When we went up in the evening
Under the arch of the guns,
And we came back in the twilight—
O God! I heard them call
To me for help and pity
That could not help at all.
Under the arch of the guns,
And we came back in the twilight—
O God! I heard them call
To me for help and pity
That could not help at all.
Oh, never will I forget you,
My men that trusted me,
More my sons than your fathers’,
For they could only see
The little helpless babies
And the young men in their pride.
They could not see you dying,
And hold you when you died.
My men that trusted me,
More my sons than your fathers’,
For they could only see
The little helpless babies
And the young men in their pride.
They could not see you dying,
And hold you when you died.
Happy and young and gallant,
They saw their first-born go,
But not the strong limbs broken
And the beautiful men brought low,
The piteous writhing bodies,
The screamed, ‘Don’t leave me, Sir,’
For they were only your fathers
But I was your officer.”
They saw their first-born go,
But not the strong limbs broken
And the beautiful men brought low,
The piteous writhing bodies,
The screamed, ‘Don’t leave me, Sir,’
For they were only your fathers
But I was your officer.”
