In dreary, doubtful, waiting hours,
Before the brazen frenzy starts,
The horses show him nobler powers:
O patient eyes, courageous hearts!
And when the burning moment breaks,
And all things else are out of mind,
And only joy of battle takes
Him by the throat and makes him blind—
Through joy and blindness he shall know,
Not caring much to know, that still
Nor lead nor steel can reach him, so
That it be not the destined Will.
The thundering line of battle stands,
And in the air death moans and sings,
But day shall clasp him with strong hands,
And night shall fold him in soft wings.
The difference of attitude and feeling in the new soldier, who became a soldier not from predilection, but against it and from a sheer sense of duty, is manifest at once, I think, in the 'Before Battle' of W. N. Hodgson, the third and youngest son of the Bishop of St. Edmundsbury and Ipswich. In March 1913 he took a First Class in Classical Moderations at Oxford; next year, in the first days of the war, he obtained a commission in the 9th Devon
