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[Page 153]

You can see the glowing missiles with their messages of death
As they rocket-like illume the earth below
Then as some poor devil's carried by you clench your teeth & cry                    
"Great God when will it be my turn to go"

Then with bloody fury maddened, o'er the parapet you leap                                        
Blind to all but that poor creature's stony gaze                                             
And you strike, but that were madness let the awful memory sleep               
And behold another curtain I will raise

You see the rows of snowy beds where haggard weary forms

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