plain up from out the glen of Gorze. Rheinbaben's cavalry are half of them
down, the other half of them are rallying for another charge to save the
German centre. Hans is in the wood to the north of Tronville, helping to
keep back Leboeuf from swamping the left flank. The shells from the French
artillery on the Roman Road are crashing into the wood. The bark is jagged
by the slashes of venomous chassepot bullets. Twice has Ladmirault come
raging down from the heights of Bruville, twice has he been sent
staggering back. Now, with strong reinforcements, he is preparing for a
third assault. Meanwhile there is a lull in the battle. Hans, grimed and
powder-blackened, may let the breech of his _Zuendnadelgewehr_ cool and may
wipe his blood-stained bayonet on the forest moss. He has a moment for a
glance into the little gray volume, and it opens in his blackened fingers
at the prayer


IN THE AGONY OF THE BATTLE

O Thou Lord and Ruler of Thine own people, awake and look now in grace
upon Thy folk. Lord Jesus Christ, be now our Jesus, our Helper and
Deliverer, our rock and fortress, our fiery wall, for Thy great name's
sake. Be now our Emmanuel, God with us, God in us, God for us, God by the
side of us. Thou mighty arm of Thy Father, let us now see Thy great power,
so that men shall hail Thee their God, and the people may bend their knees
unto Thee. Strengthen and guide the fighting arm of Thy believing
soldiers, and help them, Thou invincible King of Battles. Gird Thyself up,
Thou mighty fighting Hero; gird Thy sword on Thy loins, and smite our
enemy hip and thigh. Art Thou not the Lord who directest the wars of the
whole world, who breakest the bow, who splinterest the spear, and burnest
the chariots with fire? Arouse Thyself, help us for Thy good will, and
cast us not from Thee, God of our Saviour; cease Thy wrath against us, and