Extols itself, usurping Allah's place. What blasphemy! Obsessed to germinate Its propaganda, its infernal cult; Condoning Cain's offense, instilling hate, It strikes with poison, dirk and catapult Against the precepts of the Prince of Peace; Against the Conscience of the Universe. But hatred, lust and war will never cease Until God's Sword destroys this monstrous curse. Audaciously the Priests of Kultur strive To spread their doctrine, but the graven god Against the Living Christ cannot survive, And in His time will scourged be with His rod. And so our Ship of State to battle hastes, All sails a-drawing, sheets secure and taut, Manned by a stalwart crew, stripped to the waists, Inspired by battles that our fathers fought. In port at last whence Lafayette once sailed To aid our fight that made Britannia halt, They take their stand where Frenchmen never failed To hold the Verdun forts against assault. A mighty effort this! To send our force Three thousand miles, thru shark-infested sea, Beneath dark skies where vultures lay their course, To face the foe and ransom Liberty, Thru sacrificial offering of our sons; To arm and clothe five million men, and then Build, to convey and feed them, countless tons Of mighty vessels--transports, merchantmen; To furnish, in addition, vast supplies To allied Powers whose Cause we have embraced, To hearten them--to strengthen friendly ties And stay the hand that layeth Europe waste. A task indeed! But let it not be thought By foemen or by those whom we befriend That Liberty our trust, so dearly bought, Will not be guarded to the very end. Tho Hercules the Strong should heave in sight And challenge us to tests of thews and nerve, We'd enter the arena in our might And win new honors for the Land we serve; For Antaeus and all the myths of old 'Gainst whom the supermen of yore engaged, Were never half so mighty, half so bold As peaceful freemen, righteously enraged: And all the modern Bullies who presume To dominate the world against the Right, Must see their day-dreams doomed to blackest gloom When Truth prevails against the Imps of Night. So let us fabricate in forge and mill; So let us plant and nurture grain and seed; So let us labor and conserve until There be an end to Kultur's cruel creed. Each one of us must fight or toil or save; _Co-ordination_ be our battle song; Hardships endure and gravest dangers brave If we would victors be and right the wrong. God's ways to mortal eyes are not revealed, But Faith our guidance is thru War's grim task, And with His help the _Hosts of Sin_ must yield And Satan be denuded of his mask. HE'S ALL RIGHT, BUT--!"