A thrilling touch of Nature
Amid the battle-brunt,
A gleam of angel-feature
On Moloch's horrid front,
A beauty and a glory
To gild the soldier's scar;-
Hark to this simple story,
An episode of war.

Fair Metz, in all her vastness,
That citadel of strength,
The Brunhild maiden-fastness
Is overborne at length;
Is made her flag to lower,
Her gates to open wide
To victors in their power
And their panoply of pride.

By stern starvation vanquish'd
The hosts of gallant France
With hearts and faces anguish'd
Surrendering advance,
And pile their weapons mutely,
As patriots who can feel
Within their souls acutely
The sharpness of the steel.

How then didst thou receive them,
O noble German foe?
What welcome didst thou give them
In all their want and woe?
Did hate exulting loudly
Shout as the conquered past?
Did spiteful glances proudly
Their scorn on Frenchmen cast?

No! silently, if gladly,
Their enemies they raise
Half thankfully, half sadly,
And giving God the praise,-
Thus, the whole army meets them
As brothers in distress
And generously greets them
With looks of kindliness.

Each soldier gives his ration
To feast his fallen foe,
And saves him from starvation,
And soothes his bitter woe,
And, all the host united
In that grand act of love,
Unwittingly delighted
The Host of Heaven above!