November 1967

The Law of Combat

Volume 50, Issue 11

America's shoreline sails away,

Blown by a screaming jet stream,

And the bounding half-white billows,

Come hurtling hard abeam.

The jet claws on still higher,

While below deep dark seas run,

And the great gray wings quiver,

As they flee the rising sun.

Silently the young man sits,

And sees pass his native scene,

His life-blood faster courses,

And he stiffens with the word "Marine".

He cannot know what stalks ahead,

Down honor's dusky trail,

And misty memories in his heart,

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Jeremiah O'Leary