THE BATTLE CRY
(A version of "Her Sons" modified for Americans)
Duty-bound to final breath,
As many set a homestead by,
Honor delivered them to death,
To fall beneath a foreign sky.
Rolled the drums low to young widow's cry.
More proper graves than pauper-poor,
Row-upon-row hallowed lie;
Their battle cries are no more.
"Greetings! Benjamin, John and Seth,"
To Uncle Sam, they gave reply.
And gave they also their last breath,
Ferried home with knotted tie.
They boarded ships ne'er asking why,
Cut down in muck of foreign shore,
Where sand decayed grand food for fly.
Their battle cries are no more.
All, equal then in holy station
As sing they still, ere time goes by:
"God bless our righteous Nation
And may Her banner ever fly."
As when each one, the more drew nigh,
Sanity cried, "End all war!"
Row upon row another ply...
Their battle cries are no more.
When death becomes an ally,
Morpheus ends all war...
For in the sweet by 'n' by,
Battle ends forevermore.