But we took them from Mons to the banks of the Marne,
And helped them back on their red return;
We can swim the Rhine if the bridges burn,
And Mike O'Leary' s the lad!
Not for this did our fathers fall;
That truth, and pity, and love, and all
Should break in dust at a trumpet call,
Yea! all things clean and old.
Not to this had we sacrificed:
To sit at the last where the slayers diced,
With blood-hot hands for the robes of Christ,
And snatch at the Devil's gold.