War! War! War!
The dove of peace has fallen, her wings broken and bent.
The cruel, harsh cry of war! War! From every throat is rent.
A nation's sturdy youngsters are marching on to war;
A nation's sons and brothers are going towards death and gore.
You'll find their mangled bodies upon the battlefield,
and Death the old grim reaper, will gather in the yield.
They'll give their lives for loved ones, for country God and king;
So for these proud unfortunates, oh let the vespers ring.
They're fighting for a worthy cause, they'll fight to their last breath;
And though they're heroes every one, the reward is mostly death.
E. G. C. Richards