Why are you standing there gazing so idly?
Can not you see there is work to be done?
Have you not heard on the breeze sounding widely
The call of  the nation-each man to his gun?
 
Your King and your Country perhaps are in peril,
Does reason not urge you to fly to the van?
Or is yours the timorous  heart of a girl
Enclosed in the frame of the male-not a man?
 
Think of the nation that  guards thus her honour,
Proud in her heritage, strong in her sons;
What would you think on the stigma upon her
Had she remained beyond range of the guns?
 
God has given you life to cling to and cherish,
But guard it with honour or give it again;
Can you bear to see treasures of nationhood perish?
Then sneer at brave Belgium and laugh at Louvain.
 
What will you say when the heroes return?
How will you feel when the story is told?
Will you look straight and calm, will your cheeks
never burn?
When you meet the clear gaze of the brave and
the bold?
 
Then think of the issue,  Belgium may answer:
Freedom or tyranny, despot or King;
On with the Khaki, a guardsman or Lancer
Is spared from the qualms the future may bring.
 
"Irish Guard."
 
Ref:The R.I.C. Mag, October, 1914.


Edited 2 times by Peter Mc RIC Oct 31 14 10:07 PM.