 | War poems |  |
40
Dying for your Country
I
When Britain first, at Heaven's command,Arose from out the azure main,
We had no buttons and no band—
We did our murder very plain;
There were no heroes, no V.C.'s,
No glory for the honoured dead—
We went and slew our enemies,
Or they slew us, and nothing said.
II
Slaughter was slaughter, gore was gore,And kicks were kicks the same as now,
And death was just as sharp and sure,
And just as cooling to the brow.
We did not fight for pelf or fame,
Neither for honour did we strive,
Nor for to make Old England's name,
But just to keep ourselves alive.
41
III
It's him or you, ourselves or them—An ugly wild-beast law—and yet
It hits us with a gust like flame
When we are minded to forget;
For all our sweet tarantara,
Our “love of right” and “hate of ill,”
Boil down to the old formula—
We must be killed unless we kill.
IV
So, Johnny, keep your barrel bright,And go where you are told to go,
And when you meet, by day or night,
Our friend the enemy, lay him low;
And you must neither boast nor quake,
Though big guns roar and whizz-bangs whizz—
Don't die for your dear country's sake,
But let the other chap die for his.
58
They died content!—(Why, sure!—
Did-ums want its liqueur? . . .
And, waiter—that cigar!
And, waiter—call the car!—
And, waiter—bring the bill!—
These ‘neutrals’ make me ill!)”
Did-ums want its liqueur? . . .
And, waiter—that cigar!
And, waiter—call the car!—
And, waiter—bring the bill!—
These ‘neutrals’ make me ill!)”
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