The English knew it at Prestonpans--the wall against their backs, When down the slope the clansmen came with the long Lochaber axe, The dew on the grass and the morning mist and a roar of charging men,-- _Pipers playing on either flank-- "Steady the volleys, the leading rank!" The fires were blazing then._ And the spark has gone to Flanders, as the Prussian butchers know, For they learnt at Loos and Hulluch from the Caledonian sword The prayer of Anglo-Saxon priests a thousand years ago-- "From the fury of the Northern men, deliver us, O Lord." PRIVILEGED PRIVILEGED. They called across to Peter at the changing of the Guard, At the red-gold Doors that the Angels keep,-- "Send us help to the Portal, for they press upon us hard, They are straining at the Gate, many deep." Then Peter rose and went to the wicket by the Wall, Where the Starlight flashed upon the crowd; And he saw a mighty wave from the Greatest Gale of all Break beneath him with a roar, swelling loud-- "_Let us in! Let us in! We have left a load of sin On the battlefield that flashes far below. From the trenches or the sea there's a pass for such as we, For we died with our faces to the foe. "We haven't any creed, for we never felt the need, And our morals are as ragged as can be; But we finished in a way that has cleared us of the clay, And we're coming to you clean, as you can see."_ Then Peter looked below him with a smile upon his lips, And he answered, "Ye are fighters, as I know By your badges of the air, of the trenches, and the ships, And the wounds that on your bodies glisten so." And he looked upon the wounds, that were many and were grim, And his glance was all-embracing--unafraid; And he looked to meet the eyes that were smiling up to him, All a-level as a new-forged blade. "Ye are savage men and rough--from the fo'c'sle and the tent; Ye have put High Heaven to alarm; But I see it written clear by the road ye went, That ye held by the Fifteenth Psalm." And they shouted in return, "_'Tis a thing we've never read, But you passed our friends inside That won to the end of the road we tread Long ago when the Mons Men died._" "_Let us in! Let us in! We have fallen for the Right, And the Crown that we listed to win, That we earned by the Somme or the waters of the Bight; You're a fighting man yourself--Let us in!_" Then Peter gave a sign and the Gates flung wide To the sound of a bugle-call: "Pass the fighting men to the ranks inside, Who came from the earth or the cold grey tide, With their heads held high and a soldiers stride, To a Friend in the Judgment Hall." "OUR ANNUAL" "OUR ANNUAL."