Are they not _racing_? Is not their pride
Engaged in winning _this_ Long-Distance Ride?

_Excessive_? No! Who dares hint so?
The going's hot, and the steeds must _go_!
Chargers entered for such a race
Must not complain of the pounding pace;
Must not grumble at crushing weight.
Yes; they appear in a piteous state,
Almost foundered, and well nigh blown,
With the burden big o'er their shoulders thrown.
Ever swelling, like miser's sacks;
But why have horses such broad strong backs,
If not to _bear_--to the death at need,
Though lungs may choke, and though flanks may bleed?
Ride, ye _militaires_, ruthlessly ride!
Shouting Emperors hail with pride,
"Gallant" riders, who lash and goad
Their staggering steeds on this desperate road;
Their whips are wet, and their spur-points gory,
But--beasts must bleed, in the name of Glory!

Beasts of burden, ye peoples, still
Ridden hard by a ruthless will!
Militarism is mounted firm.
The saddled slaves may shudder and squirm,
The bridled brutes may shy and shrink,
The road is long, and the gulf's black brink
Seems distant yet, and is scarcely seen
By the rival riders, whose pride and spleen