Scourge and curses are their portion, pain and hunger without end,
Till they hail the yell of shrapnel as the welcome of a friend;
They drink and burn and rape and laugh to hear the women cry,
And do the devil’s work to-day, but on the morrow die.
Drift! Drift! Drift! the cannon fodder go
Upon their way to Calais, (God feed the carrion crow.)
They’ve done his will who taught them that the Germans shall be slaves,
Till land and sea are festering with their unnumbered graves.
EDEN PHILLPOTTS
