When the thunder-shaking German hosts are marching over France-- Lo, the glinting of the bayonet and the quiver of the lance!-- When a rowdy rampant KAISER, stout and mad and middle-aged, Strips his breast of British Orders just to prove that he's enraged; When with fire and shot and pillage He destroys each town and village; When the world is black with warfare, then there's one thing you must do: Set your teeth like steel, my hearties, and sit tight and see it through. Oh, it's heavy work is fighting, but our soldiers do it well-- Lo, the booming of the batteries, the clatter of the shell!-- And it's weary work retiring, but they kept a dauntless front, All our company of heroes who have borne the dreadful brunt. They can meet the foe and beat him, They can scatter and defeat him, For they learnt a steady lesson (and they taught a lesson, too), Having set their teeth in earnest and sat tight and seen it through. Then their brothers trooped to join them, taking danger for a bride, Not in insolence and malice, but in honour and in pride; Caring nought to be recorded on the muster-roll of fame, So they struck a blow for Britain and the glory of her name. Toil and wounds could but delight them, Death itself could not affright them, Who went out to fight for freedom and the red and white and blue, While they set their teeth as firm as flint and vowed to see it through. THE DEATH OF EUCLID ["Euclid, we are told, is at last dead, after two thousand years of an immortality that he never much deserved."--_The Times Literary Supplement_.] A THRENODY for EUCLID! This is he Who with his learning made our youth a waste, Holding our souls in fee; A god whose high-set crystal throne was based Beyond the reach of tears, Deeper than time and his relentless years! Come then, ye Angle-Nymphs, and make lament; Ye little Postulates, and all the throng Of Definitions, with your heads besprent In funeral ashes, ye who long Worshipped the King and followed in his train; For he is dead and cannot rise again. Then from the shapes that beat their breasts and wept, Soft to the light a gentle Problem stepped, And, lo, her clinging robe she swiftly loosed And with majestic hands her side produced: "Sweet Theorem," she said, and called her mate, "Sweet Theorem, be with me at this hour. How oft together in a dear debate We two bore witness to our Sovereign's power. But he is dead and henceforth all our days Are wrapped in gloom, And we who never ceased to sing his praise May weep our lord, but cannot call him from his tomb."