Source
Riddled with anxious questions In the starlit night There it shrills through night and sorrow In the storm and the roar of death Hans Bauer (Champagne)
We march in heavy step
A
distant roll strides along,
as if a cross were struck.
The canopy of heaven burns and
blazes.
We feel like seeds before death,
unripe for
harvest.
Like hot courage from
man to man,
Then a new faith leaps at us:
We are the people of
tomorrow!
No dying wind blows us
away,
Because we are not seed and blossom,
No, we are the soil
and the field.
Source: Simplicissimus, Jg. 22 Heft 20, August 14, 1917, p. 252. http://www.simplicissimus.info/uploads/tx_lombkswjournaldb/pdf/1/22/22_20.pdf