The Krupp that can with Logic absolute The plans of modern Strategists confute The steel iconoclast that in a trice The strongest Fortress into Dust transmute.
The Krupp no question makes of Aye and No, But strikes alike Cathedral or Château And I who send it out into the Field-- I know about it all--I know--I know!
And much as War has made an infidel Of me, and robbed me of my honour, well I often wonder what the Devil has One half so devilish as I--In Hell!
Ah, but _my_ innovations people say Placed war upon a sounder basis? Nay, ’Twas only striking from War’s lexicon The terms TRUTH, HONOUR, DECENCY, FAIR PLAY.
The Treaties that I set my seal upon Are turned to dust and ashes, which anon Like snowflakes falling in a muddy street Lighting a little hour or two are gone.
What if my sword can fling the Sheath aside And naked plunge into the crimson tide, Were’t not a shame, were’t not a shame for me, By a “mere scrap of paper” to abide?
Indeed, indeed, continually I swore For Peace--but was I solemn when I swore? And then--then came the Day and sword in hand My threadbare piety apieces tore.
From Europe’s centre, through the Belgian gate I rode and at the Door of Paris sate. And many a city ravished by the road, But Paris--she is still immaculate.
Here was the Gate to which I found no key; Here was the Wall o’er which I might not see. Some little talk awhile of strategy There was, and then--good afternoon, Paree!
“Can you spare a Threepenny bit, Dear Miss Turkey,” said Sir Mouse, “For Job’s Turkey’s benefit? I’ve engaged the Opera House!”
“Alas! I’ve naught to spare!” Said Miss Turkey, “save advice, I am getting up a Fair, To relieve the Poor Church Mice.”
In the cloisters of the grass, Lit by buttercups and daisies, Celebrants of summer mass, Little creatures sing their praises. From a myriad throbbing throats Rises up their song of Love, Like a mist of golden motes, To the Golden Throne above. And the good Lord, bending nigh, Quite forgets his house of stone Where the frightened sinners cry, And the frowning priests intone, And the saints (if saints they be) Smile and smile in effigy.
_A Round Robin from His Humble and Devoted Servants the Alphabet_
The Lord forgive if we transgress Thus to familiarly address One of our betters. But, Jamie, do you no recall The slate whereon you learned to scrawl Your Humble Letters?