Page:The Muse in Arms, Osborn (ed), 1917.djvu/151

 XLI

HIS is the song of the Plane—

The creaking, shrieking plane,

The throbbing, sobbing plane,

And the moaning, groaning wires:—

The engine—missing again!

One cylinder never fires!

Hey ho! for the Plane!

This is the song of the Man—

The driving, striving man,

The chosen, frozen man:—

The pilot, the man-at-the-wheel,

Whose limit is all that he can,

And beyond, if the need is real!

Hey ho! for the Man!

This is the song of the Gun—

The muttering, stuttering gun,

The maddening, gladdening gun:—

That chuckles with evil glee

At the last, long dive of the Hun,

With its end in eternity!

Hey ho! for the Gun!

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