Over the hostile camps at night,
Where red eyes gleam through the murky light,
A blow to strike for freedom's right
The God of freedom serving!
Or out on the tortured fields of France
Where hellish deeds are flaunted,
With face to the Rhine on the firing line
To stand with a heart undaunted;
'Mid screaming shell and shrapnel dance
Unmoved by outer circumstance,
To serve one's turn and take one's chance—
'Tis not the will that's wanted!
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