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Auckland Star, Volume LXXI, Issue 228, 25 September 1940, Page 6

Hear the thud of the rolling drum. Hark to the tramp as the soldiers come. Shoulder to shoulder down the street While the cobbles ring to the stamping feet. Bayonets glinting, heads held high. While the bugles blow and the banners fly. Proud in their colours, they sing a sons Of marching men as they stride along. Forth to the din of the battle's wrack With shouldered gun and encumb'ring pack; Forth to the furv of man-made hell. To a flaming destiny none can tell. Comes a lull in the swelling throng As they cheer to the men that march along. Then full in the silence, like a note Tom from a morning thrush's throat The throbbing cry of a woman's pain As she forces a way through the jostling train. And the loud-mouthed patriots stand amazed As the sobbing woman, panting, dazed. Calls to her son. who with head held high Never betrays he has heard her cry. Never a glance as he t- , — the beat Of the rolling drum to the treading feet; While she stands in a tear-drawn marble woe At the rigid backs as the soldiers go Stern and strong as they march along. With stamping feet down the silenced street. —R.M.S.