oncerned when Death breaks loose
On a front of half a world.
Only for General Death
The Yellow Flag may fly,
While we take post beneath--
That is the place for a spy.
Where Plague has spread his pinions over Nations and Dominions--
Then will be work for a spy!

The dropping shots begin,
The single funerals pass,
Our skirmishers run in,
The corpses dot the grass!
The howling towns stampede,
The tainted hamlets die.
Now it is war indeed--
Now there is room for a spy!
O Peoples, Kings and Lands, we are waiting your commands--
What is the work for a spy?
(DRUMS)--_'Fear is upon us, spy!_

'Go where his pickets hide--
Unmask the shapes they take,
Whether a gnat from the waterside,
Or stinging fly in the brake,
Or filth of the crowded street,
Or a sick rat limping by,
Or a smear of spittle dried in the heat--
That is the work of a spy!
(DRUMS)--_Death is upon us, spy!_

'What does he next prepare?
Whence will he move to attack?--
By water, earth or air?--
How can we head him back?
Shall we starve him out if we burn
Or bury his food-supply?
Slip through his lines and learn--
That is work for a spy!
(DRUMS)--_Get to your business, spy!_

'Does he feint or strike in force?
Will he charge or ambuscade?
What is it checks his course?
Is he beaten or only delayed?
How long will the lull endure?
Is he retreating? Why?
Crawl to his camp and make sure--
That is the work for a spy!
(DRUMS)--_Fetch us our answer, spy!_

'Ride with him girth to girth
Wherever the Pale Horse wheels,
Wait on his councils, ear to earth,
And say what the dust reveals.
For the smoke of our torment rolls
Where the burning thousands lie;
What do we care for men's bodies or souls?
Bring us deliverance, spy!'

THE SONS OF MARTHA

The Sons of Mary seldom bother, for they have inherited that good
part,
But the Sons of Martha favour their Mother of the careful soul and
the troubled heart.
And because she lost her