Over the sodden trenches —
Over the skirmish line —
High o'er the hole-torn fields and roads
Cometh a face to mine.
Under the burning gas attack,
And the stench of the bursting shell,
We hope we may live for her dear sake —
She who would wish us well.
( She who has ever cherished us —
But when the hour came
Choked back the tears of the faithful years,
As we left to play the game. )
Between the blazing horizons
That hammer the long night through,
Lapping their tongues of hatred —
Fearless she comes to you.
And over the roar of battle
Where the shrill-voiced shrapnel sings,
Shine forth the loving eyes we hold
Above all earthly things.
A World run mad with slaughter —
A charnel-house of blood —
But the face of the Battle Mother
Above the crimson flood.