Читать книгу On Patrol - Bower John Graham - Страница 4

ARE the prices high and taxes stiff, is the prospect sad and dark?

Have you seen your capital dwindle down as low as the German mark?

Do you feel your troubles around you rise in an endless dreary wall?

Well – thank your God you were born in time for the Greatest War of all.

It will be all right in a thousand years – you won't be bankrupt then.

This isn't the time of stocks and shares, it's just the age of men.

The one that sticks it out will win – so don't lie down and bawl,

But thank your God you've helped to win the noblest War of all.

Away to the East in Flanders' mud, through Dante's dream of Hell,

The troops are working hard for peace with bayonet, bomb, and shell,

With poison gas and roaring guns beneath a smoking pall;

Yes – thank your God your kin are there – the finest troops of all.

You may be stripped of all you have – it may be all you say,

But you'll have your life and eyesight left, so stow your talk of pay.

You won't be dead in a bed of lime with those that heard the Call;

So thank your God you've an easy job in the Greatest War of all.

It isn't the money that's going to count when the Flanders' men return,

And a shake of your hand from Flanders' men is a thing you've got to earn.

Just think how cold it's going to be in the Nation's Judgment Hall;

So damn your troubles and find your soul in the Greatest War of all!