The gray battalions were driving down

Like snow from the North on Paris Town.

Dread and panic were in the air,

The fate of Empires hung by a hair.

With the world in the balance, what shall decide?

How stem the sweep of the conquering tide?

God of Justice, be not far

In this our hour of holy war!

In one man's valour, where all were men,

The strength of a people was gathered then.

"My right is weakened, my left is thin,

My centre is almost driven in,"—

The soul of a patriot spoke through the hush,—

"I shall advance!" said General Foch.

Forth from Paris to meet the storm

They rushed like bees in an angry swarm.

By motor and lorry and truck they came

Swift as the wind and fierce as flame.

Papa Joffre knew the trick

Of stinging hot and hard and quick.

Not for ambition and not for pride,

For France they fought, for France they died,

Striking the blow of the Marne that hurled

The barbarians back and saved the world.

The German against that hope forlorn

Their right was weakened, their left was thin,

Their centre was almost driven in,

When the tide of battle turned with a rush;

For France was there—and Ferdinand Foch.

Not since Garibaldi's stroke

Freed his land from the Austrian yoke,

And Italy after a thousand years

Walked in beauty among her peers;

Not since Nelson followed the star

Of Freedom to triumph at Trafalgar

On the tossing floor of the Western seas;

No, not since Miltiades

Fronted the Persian hosts and won

Against the tyrant at Marathon,

Has a greater defender of liberty

Stood and struck for the cause, than he

Whose right was weakened, whose left was thin,

Whose centre was almost driven in,

But whose iron courage no fate could crush,

Nor hinder. "I shall advance!" said Foch.

We who are left to carry the fray

For civilization on to-day,

The war of the angels for goodly right

Against the devil of brutish might,—

The war for manhood, mercy, and love,

And peace with honour all price above,—

What shall we answer, how prepare

For Destiny's challenge, Who goes there?

And pass with the willing and worthy to give

When promise and patience are wearing thin,

When endurance is almost driven in,

When our angels stand in a waiting hush,

Remember the Marne, and Ferdinand Foch!