Methinks at last the time has come to speak ...
Since good old Russia up and revoluted
I have been waiting, week by weary week,
To hear the news--the obvious item--bruited;
But now I give it up; it will not come;
Or anyway I can no more be dumb.

Where were you, GILBERT, when the great release--
"Freedom in arms, the riding and the routing,"
Demos superbly potting at police,
And actual swords getting an actual outing--
Came at the last, the things wherein you shone,
Or let us think you'd shine in, CHESTERTON?

You were not there! Damme, you were not _there_!
Alas for us whose faith refused to doubt you!
"All that lost riot that you did not share"
Managed, somehow, to get along without you;
When Russia "went to battle for the creed"
GILBERT sat tight and did not even bleed!

CHESTERTON! Dash it all, my dear old chap!
Why, weren't you always eloquent on "Valmy,"
"Death and the splendour of the scarlet cap"?
Here were the days you looked upon as palmy.
Just think of all your poems! Why, good Lord,
There is no word you work so hard as "sword."

We looked to see you there, the stout and staunch,
"Red flag" in one hand and "ten swords" in t'other;