At the striking of ten he was grey,
And they carried him out
Stiff-strangled with gout.
(Man, it is said, is as hay.)


_THE PATER OF THE CANNON_

Father of the thunder,
Flinger of the flame,
Searing stars asunder,
_Hallowed be Thy Name_!

By the sweet-sung quiring
Sister bullets hum,
By our fiercest firing,
_May Thy Kingdom come_!

By Thy strong apostle
Of the Maxim gun,
By his pentecostal
Flame, _Thy Will be done_!

Give us, Lord, good feeding
To Thy battles sped--Flesh,
white grained and bleeding,
_Give for daily bread_!


_FLEET STREET_