Thank God, our liberating lance
Goes flaming on the way to France!
At last, thank God! At last, we see
There is no tribal Liberty!
No beacon lighting just our shores,
No Freedom guarding but our doors.
The flame she kindled for our sires
Burns now in Europe's battle-fires.
The soul that led our fathers west
Turns back to free the world's opprest.
Allies, you have not called in vain;
We share your conflict and your pain.
"Old Glory" through new stains and rents,
Partakes of Freedom's sacraments.
Into that hell his will creates
We drive the foe -- his lusts -- his hates.
Last come, we will be last to stay,
Till right has had her crowning day.
Replenish, comrades, from our veins
The blood, the sword of despot drains
And make our eager sacrifice
Part of the freely rendered price
You pay to lift humanity --
You pay to make our brothers free.
See, with what proud hearts we advance
To France!
-- Daniel M. Henderson.
National Arts Club's
Prize War Poem.