(September, 1914)
The gray battalions were driving down
Like snow from the North on Paris Town.
Dread and panic were in the air,
The fate of Empires hung by a hair.
With the world in the balance, what shall decide?
How stem the sweep of the conquering tide?
God of Justice, be not far
In this our hour of holy war!
In one man's valour, where all were men,