THE WORLD'S MUSQUETEER: TO MARSHAL FOCH

Marshal of France, yet still the Musqueteer,

Comrade at arms, on your bronzed cheek we press

The soldier's kiss, and drop the soldier's tear;

Brother by brother fought we in the stress

Of the locked steel, all the wild work that fell

For our reluctant doing; we that stormed hell

And smote it down together, in the sun

Stand here once more, with all our fighting done,

Garlands upon our helmets, sword and lance

Quiet with laurel, sharing the peace they won:

Soldier that saved the world in saving France.

Soldier that saved the world in saving France,

France that was Europe's dawn when light was none,

Clear eyes that with eternal vigilance

Pierce through the webs in nether darkness spun,

Soul of man's soul, his sentinel upon

The ramparts of the world: Ah! France,‘ twas well

This soldier with the sword of Gabriel

Was yours and ours in all that dire duresse,

This soldier, gentle as a child, that here

Stands shy and smiling‘ mid a world's caress —

Marshal of France, yet still the Musqueteer.

Marshal of France, yet still the Musqueteer,

True knight and succourer of the world's distress

His might and skill we laurel, but more dear

Our soldier for that “parfit gentlenesse”

That ever in heroic hearts doth dwell,

That soul as tranquil as a vesper bell,

That glory in him that would glory shun,

Those kindly eyes alive with Gascon fun,

D'Artagnan' s brother — still the old romance

Runs in the blood, thank God! and still shall run:

Soldier that saved the world in saving France.

Soldier that saved the world in saving France,

Foch, to America's deep heart how near;

Betwixt us twain shall never come mischance.

Warrior that fought that war might disappear,

Far and for ever far the unborn year

That turns the ploughshare back into the spear —

But, must it come, then Foch shall lead the dance:

Marshal of France, yet still the Musqueteer.