Page:The Muse in Arms, Osborn (ed), 1917.djvu/311

 CXVI

HEN the moonlit shadows creep,

When the sun beats pitiless down,

Steadfast, vigilant they keep

Watch and ward about the town.

Guardians of an Empire's gate,

In the sunshine and the dust

Still beside their guns they wait,

Faithful to their weary trust.

Not for them the hero's cross,

Not for them the hero's grave,

Thrill of victory, pain of loss,

Praise of those they fell to save.

Only days of monotone,

Sand and fever, flies and fret,

All unheeded and unknown,

Little thanks they're like to get.

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