| |
| ALL the hills and vales along | |
| Earth is bursting into song, | |
| And the singers are the chaps | |
| Who are going to die perhaps. | |
| O sing, marching men, | 5 |
| Till the valleys ring again. | |
| Give your gladness to earth’s keeping, | |
| So be glad, when you are sleeping. | |
| |
| Cast away regret and rue, | |
| Think what you are marching to. | 10 |
| Little live, great pass. | |
| Jesus Christ and Barabbas | |
| Were found the same day. | |
| This died, that went his way. | |
| So sing with joyful breath. | 15 |
| For why, you are going to death. | |
| Teeming earth will surely store | |
| All the gladness that you pour. | |
| |
| Earth that never doubts nor fears, | |
| Earth that knows of death, not tears, | 20 |
| Earth that bore with joyful ease | |
| Hemlock for Socrates, | |
| Earth that blossomed and was glad | |
| ’Neath the cross that Christ had, | |
| Shall rejoice and blossom too | 25 |
| When the bullet reaches you. | |
| Wherefore, men marching | |
| On the road to death, sing! | |
| Pour your gladness on earth’s head, | |
| So be merry, so be dead. | 30 |
| |
| From the hills and valleys earth | |
| Shouts back the sound of mirth, | |
| Tramp of feet and lilt of song | |
| Ringing all the road along. | |
| All the music of their going, | 35 |
| Ringing, swinging, glad song-throwing, | |
| Earth will echo still, when foot | |
| Lies numb and voice mute. | |
| On, marching men, on | |
| To the gates of death with song. | 40 |
| Sow your gladness for earth’s reaping, | |
| So you may be glad, though sleeping. | |
| Strew your gladness on earth’s bed, | |
| So be merry, so be dead. | |
| |
