WHEN day's hard task's done, <br />Eve's scant meal partaken, <br />Out we steal each one, <br />Weariless, unshaken. <br />In small reeking squares, <br />Garbaged plots, we gather, <br />Little knots and pairs, <br />Brother, sister, father. <br />Then the Word is given. <br />In their silent places <br />Under lowering heaven, <br />Range our stern-set faces. <br />Now we march and wheel <br />In our clumsy line, <br />Shouldering sticks for steel, <br />Thoughts bitter as brine! <br />Drill, drill, drill, and drill! <br />It is only thus <br />Conquer yet we will <br />Those who've conquered us. <br />Patience, sisters, mothers! <br />We must not forget <br />Foiled dead fathers, brothers; <br />They must teach us yet. <br />In that Hour we see, <br />The Hour of our Desire, <br />What shall their slayers be? <br />As the stubble to the fire!<br /><br />Francis William Lauderdale Adams<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/drill/
