| |
| ‘FAR I hear the bugle blow | |
| To call me where I would not go, | |
| And the guns begin the song, | |
| “Soldier, fly or stay for long.” | |
| |
| ‘Comrade, if to turn and fly | 5 |
| Made a soldier never die, | |
| Fly I would, for who would not? | |
| ’Tis sure no pleasure to be shot. | |
| |
| ‘But since the man that runs away | |
| Lives to die another day, | 10 |
| And cowards’ funerals, when they come, | |
| Are not wept so well at home, | |
| |
| ‘Therefore, though the best is bad, | |
| Stand and do the best, my lad; | |
| Stand and fight and see your slain, | 15 |
| And take the bullet in your brain.’ | |
| |
