The gaunt and sinister craters, one merging into the ragged rim of another, the bits of shell, the battered helmets, broken guns, ill-assorted refuse of combat—each shattered particle a marker for some valiant soul “gone west” in service of humanity.
Here, over this land glorified by a nobility of deed than which there has been no more exalted, must our war be waged. Out of this hallowed ground comes the call of those who have given of their best—the call to our great land for Old Glory’s best!
There will come to us wounds that will rack our bodies and drain the coursing blood of our vibrant veins. There will come to us the aching pain of suffering and loss—here on these red fields of France. But we will save our souls and our nation’s soul! And we will save our heritage and give to the billions of the world the right to theirs.
So the brown ribbon of youth winds across the sea—to Verdun and to the long, thin lines on either side. Here will we prove our right to life and liberty!
Brown ribbon of promise!
Hoping, longing, wounded France!
Brown ribbon of youth and high resolve!
Brown ribbon of Liberty!