Till the face of every glutton
Shone with a patriot's after-glow,
And then they retired a mile or so
And the War Lord pressed the button.
Hoch! The howitzer stood the test,
Belching like fifty craters,
And (this is perhaps the cream of the jest)
There was more than metal inside its chest,
For they hadn't removed the waiters.
Now it has come on armoured trains