We had no fear of hell;
But lined, and ranged, and timed to clock,
Our barrage-curtains fell,
When guns gave tongue and breech-blocks swung
And palms rammed home the shell.
The Red-Steel ranks edged forward,
And vanished in our smoke;
Back from his churning craters,
The Gray Man reeled and broke;
While, fast as sweat could lay and set,