Excerpt from A Song of the Guns These are our masters, the slim Grim muzzles that irk in the pit; That cha'fe for the rushing of wheels, For the teams plunging madly to bit As the gunners Wing down to unkey, For the trails sweeping half-circle-right, For the six breech-blocks clashing as one To a target viewed clear on the sight Gray masses the shells search and tear Into fragments that bunch as they run For the hour of the red battle-harvest, The dream of the slaves of the gun! About the Publisher Forgotten Books publishes hundreds of thousands of rare and classic books. Find more at www.forgottenbooks.com This book is a reproduction of an important historical work. Forgotten Books uses state-of-the-art technology to digitally reconstruct the work, preserving the original format whilst repairing imperfections present in the aged copy. In rare cases, an imperfection in the original, such as a blemish or missing page, may be replicated in our edition. We do, however, repair the vast majority of imperfections successfully; any imperfections that remain are intentionally left to preserve the state of such historical works.