Francis William Lauderdale Adams
WHEN day's hard task's done,
Eve's scant meal partaken,
Out we steal each one,
In small reeking squares,
Garbaged plots, we gather,
Little knots and pairs,
Brother, sister, father.
Then the Word is given.
In their silent places
Under lowering heaven,
Range our stern-set faces.
Now we march and wheel
In our clumsy line,
Shouldering sticks for steel,
Thoughts bitter as brine!
Drill, drill, drill, and drill!
It is only thus
Conquer yet we will
Those who've conquered us.
Patience, sisters, mothers!
We must not forget
Foiled dead fathers, brothers;
They must teach us yet.
In that Hour we see,
The Hour of our Desire,
What shall their slayers be?
As the stubble to the fire!
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Comments about this poem (Drill by Francis William Lauderdale Adams )
(March 26, 1874 – January 29, 1963)
(12 July 1904 – 23 September 1973)
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(19 January 1809 - 7 October 1849)
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Edgar Albert Guest
(20 August 1881 - 5 August 1959)
- Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
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