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[Page 152]

The anguish of the suffering and the weakness of the strong
And the thousand things that make the soldier's name.

You cannot know the bravery that leads the soldier forth
Defying shells and guns that sweep the space
And mow as with Time's sickle from the pride of Nature's youth
As toward the foe he boldly turns his face

And the tiny little dug-outs where the weary men are crammed
For the moment just to stay Exhaustion's grip
And the shells discordant screeching drown the rifle's noisy din
The ghastly roar, then moans from someone's lips

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