I Cleave The Air Through The Murky Night, High O'Er The Forests And Sleeping Towns; Below Me Drifts The Shimmering Light - A Glorious Fresco On Vale And Downs; My Sea Hath No Billows Nor Rocky Shores, And Only The Winds Disturb My Soul; I Care Not For Those Who Slumber In Death, For My Bomb Is Bloody And Death My Goal - And All For The Vaterland! Where The Currents Cross And The Cruisers Speed I Sail Towards The North In A Piteous Sky; I Hear The Night Wind'S Surging Note As It Mingles Its Requiem With The Widow'S Cry. Above Me There Streams A Light From Heaven, But I Bow My Head And Veil My Eyes As I Plough The Fields With My Fateful Keel And Sow The Highways With Tears And Sighs - And All For The Vaterland! And Hate Is The Banner I Unfurl So Wide That Its Blood-Dripp'D Folds May Catch The Breeze; That E'En From The Balcony Of Heaven On High May Be Seen This Banner On All The Seas. No Triumph Of Arms Is My Flight By Night, It Is Only A Part Of A Murderous Raid: Dropping A Bomb On An Innocent Child Or A Crowing Babe In Its Cradle Laid - And All For The Vaterland! For Thomas Walsh.