I'll give the last drop, while the hoof of the Hun
Polluted and cloven in Alsace remains:
Until France is free we must fight: every one!
Of course I'll go back to the trenches again:
My wound is fast healing and soon will be sound;
Six chevrons have I, but I'll fight with the men
Who fill up the shell-holes like moles in the ground.
I'll charge with the Boys when they hurdle the top,
The Tri-color lashed to my half-useless arm,
With pistol or sword in my hand, till I drop: