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The soldier has his girls to love,
And he has his rum to drink,
But, when the lines of battle move,
He has little time to think:
Sometimes he wins a victory;
Somewhere the battle ends;
And there the paths of glory lie,
Where lie the soldier's friends.
The floods of battle ebb and flow,
The soldiers to Valhalla go!
The fighting men go charging past,
With the battle in their eyes,
The fighting men go reeling past,
Like gods in poor disguise:
The glorious men whom none will see,
No wife or mother more,
Winged with the wings of Victory,
And helmeted by Thor!
Above the cloud what lights are gleaming?
God's batteries are those,
Or souls of soldiers homeward streaming
To banquet with their foes?
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