THE YOUNG BLOOD SPEAKS
Bon jour, Marcel! Your hand.
At last our stars
Have come to join your triple bars;
We're here to fight with France—
By God, give us the chance!—
We heard the cries
Of helpless children; saw the frightened eyes
Of women shrinking from the maddened crew
That swept their land; we felt
The quiver of the tortured sod, and smelt
The smoke of burning villages; we knew
You needed us, that's what we're coming for—
To stop this war.
Dis donc, Emile! We couldn't stand their cant:
"God and the Fatherland." And trampling
Your tender soil for that! We're here to fling
Their words back in their teeth. For us, we want
Nothing that is our neighbor's; we have come
To lead our stricken brothers and their women
home,
To smooth the scarred and broken earth, and plant
The fields again. But—if we must—
We'll deal first with those war-lords, break
Their knees and bring them to the dust.
For France's sake
We'll fight until we drop.
We're here to make them stop.
Allons! Leon, Gaspard!
We'll help you win this war.