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Raemaekers
There are many ways of fighting, and the Germans, in their ...

When Germany Lost The War
No man knows exactly when and where the three and twenty al...

Birdmen
Although I am an American, I am still in the French aviatio...

Daring The Undarable
We are thirty in the hands of Fate And thirty-one wi...

The Belgian Prince
The Belgian Prince was a British cargo steamer. On a voyage...

What One American Did
If a person had been standing one night beside the railroad...

The Beast In Man
A German leader once said, "The oldest right in the world i...

Marshal Foch
A Great German philosopher said many years ago that history...

A Belgian Lawyer's Appeal
One of the great lawyers of Belgium in behalf of the member...

At School Near The Lines
The boys and girls in America have listened with great inte...

They Shall Not Pass
The caves described in the Arabian Nights are not more wond...

War Dogs
The story of "The Animals Going to War" tells how, one by o...

A Ballad Of French Rivers
Of streams that men take honor in The Frenchman ...

The Queen's Flower
On July 25, 1918, nearly every person in Washington, the ca...

The Hun Target The Red Cross
All the civilized nations of the world have agreed to respe...

Can War Ever Be Right?
After England had entered the war against the Central Power...

The Destruction Of Louvain
More than one hundred years ago, Napoleon, the famous Frenc...

The World War
The story of the World War is the story of the control of t...

Cardinal Mercier
He is an old man, nearly seventy, with thin, grayish-white ...

The Charge Of The Black Watch And The Scots Greys
Sometimes a retreat is in reality a great victory. It has b...



And The Cock Crew






"I hate them all!" said old Gaspard,
And in his weather-beaten face
The lines of bitterness grew hard,
For he had seen his dwelling-place
Laid waste in very wantonness,
And all his little treasures flung
Into that never-sated press
From which no wine, but gall, had sprung--
And not his heart alone was sore,
For in his frail old limbs he bore
Wounds of the heavy, ruthless hand
That weighed so cruelly of late
Upon the people and the land.
It was not hard to understand
Why old Gaspard should hate
Even the German lad who lay
His neighbor in the hospital,
The boy who pleaded night and day:
"Don't let me die! don't let me die!
When I see the dawn, I know
I shall live out that day, and then
I'm not afraid--till dark--but oh,
How soon the night comes round again!
Don't let me die! don't let me die!"

The old man muttered at each low,
Pitiful, half delirious cry,
"They should die, had I the say,
In hell's own torment, one and all!"
And then would drag himself away,
Despite each motion's agony,
To where the wounded poilus lay,
And cheer them with his mimicry
Of barnyard noises, and his gay
Old songs of what life used to be.
One night the lad suddenly cried,
"Mother!" And though the sister knew--
He was so young, so terrified,
"You're safe--the east is light," she lied.
But "No!" he sobbed, "the cock must crow
Before the dawn!" They did not hear
A cripple crawl across the floor,
But all at once, outside the door,
In the courtyard, shrill and clear,
Once, twice and thrice, chanticleer crew.
The blue eyes closed and the boy sighed,
"I'm not afraid, now day's begun.
I'll live--till--" With a smile, he died.

And in that hour when he denied
The god of hate, I think that One
Passed through the hospital's dim yard
And turning, looked on old Gaspard.

AMELIA JOSEPHINE BURR.

FOOTNOTES:

[1] COPYRIGHT BY GEORGE H. DORAN COMPANY





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