OVER THE TOP.

We've soldiered many, many moons

In this old plugging war,

And all the ills and all the thrills,

We've had‘ em o'er and o'er.

Shell-fire, G. I. Cans and Gas —

Night work in No Man's Land —

And everything that calls for nerve,

Endurance, guts and sand.

We've argued which we liked the worst —

Machine-guns, gas or shell.

We've ruminated carefully —

And done it rather well.

And after all our resume

And cogitating bull,

We've reached a clear decision,

Most amplified and full:—

The greatest time in all the life

Of any living man —

The mightiest moment of the Game —

The proudest, high elan;

The thing we came three thousand miles

Across the seas to do —

“The Day,” the splendid hour

That waits for me and you,

Arrives — We spring into the wastes

Of land, ripped, roweled and barred —

The battle-lust in brain and eye —

The weary jaw set hard;

The rifle gripped in hands of steel,

Where, flashing in the sun,

Sweep on our blazing bayonets,

The terror of the Hun.