They gave me this name like their nature,
Compacted of laughter and tears,
A sweet that was born of the bitter,
There was rapture of spring in the morning
When we told our love in the wood,
For you were the spring in my heart, dear lad.
Parson says I'm to make 'im a cross
To set up over his grave,
'E's buried there by the Moated Grange,
And I 'ad a damn close shave,
Well, I've done my bit o' scrappin',
And I've done in quite a lot;
Nicked 'em neatly wiv my bayonet,
So I needn't waste a shot.
My brethren, the ways of God
No man can understand,
We can but wait in awe and watch
The wonders of His hand.
Easy does it — bit o' trench 'ere,
Mind that blinkin' bit o' wire,
There's a shell 'ole on your left there,
Lift 'im up a little 'igher.
There's a soul in the Eternal,
Standing stiff before the King.
There's a little English maiden
I wouldn't mind if I only knowed
The spot where they'd laid my lad;
If I could see where they'd buried 'im,
Still I see them coming, coming,
In their ragged broken line,
Walking wounded in the sunlight,
Clothed in majesty divine.