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WORK-A-DAY WARRIORS
We crouch within a dug-out's dusty depths;
A cavern in the earth; Adullam cave;
A mouse's burrowing—a mole's—no more,
Yet sanctuary 'gainst the iron storm
Which works unheeded havoc o'er our heads.

Two hundred yards away the Teuton line
Twines like some scaly serpent in the grass
Which ever and anon doth vomit fire.

And these are they would claim Will for their own?
Well, they, if more than kin, are less than kind,
For all the day, from dawning to the dusk,
They've tried us with a dozen different deaths.

E'en so; I turn the pages of his book
As Shakespeare turned each several folio
Of that vast, varied volumed Book of Life.