MAY-TIME
'TIS May-time here in our own fields,
The blue birds sing all day,
But—tis hiss of shot and snap of shell
For those we've sent away;
For the May-time is a battle time,
And far across the sea
Our men will keep their tryst with death
Or win for Liberty!
The blue birds sing all day,
But—tis hiss of shot and snap of shell
For those we've sent away;
For the May-time is a battle time,
And far across the sea
Our men will keep their tryst with death
Or win for Liberty!
'Tis May-time in the London lanes,
Where blossoms softly nod,
But—'tis fight-time on the Flanders front,
Where souls go home to God;
For the May-time is a bloody time,
Where fierce the hot hail sweeps,
And COURAGE at the gates of hell
Its steadfast vigil keeps!
Where blossoms softly nod,
But—'tis fight-time on the Flanders front,
Where souls go home to God;
For the May-time is a bloody time,
Where fierce the hot hail sweeps,
And COURAGE at the gates of hell
Its steadfast vigil keeps!
'Tis May-time in the Paris parks,
The shadows fleck the grass,
But—"tis "stand and die" in Picardy
With cry: "You shall not pass!"
For the May-time it is death time,
Where the lilied banners shine,
And, oh! 'tis VALOR'S Golden Age
Down all that gun-swept line!
The shadows fleck the grass,
But—"tis "stand and die" in Picardy
With cry: "You shall not pass!"
For the May-time it is death time,
Where the lilied banners shine,
And, oh! 'tis VALOR'S Golden Age
Down all that gun-swept line!