WHEN DRINKING TO ERIN
When drinking to Erin with laughter and story,
Remember her soldiers the loyal and brave,
Who on fields of France, 'mid a halo of glory,
Went to death that the banner of Britain might wave.
Remember the hearts that in Erin are broken,
And remember the names that will live through the years,
Then lift up the Shamrock, sweet, triple-leaved token,
And drink to the war with its glory and tears.
Drink to His Majesty, kingly and gracious,
Drink to Earl Roberts, Erin's own pride;
Drink to brave Kitchener, strong-willed, tenacious;
Drink to her soldiers who battled and died.
How quickly they marshalled when war clouds were breaking,
To the call of the Empire they answered with cheers;
Few, few were the moments they spent in leave-taking,
Ere they sailed for the front, the brave Fusiliers.
Through the valleys of death they marched with the others,
True British hearts as their fathers before,
English, Irish, and Scots, all heroes, all brothers,
Their music of death the cannon's deep roar.
They sleep 'neath a sod where no shamrocks are growing,
Afar from Hibernia, their dear, beloved isle;
But if you remember, perchance, there's no knowing,
They may wake from their sleep for a moment and smile.
And may the tale of their love and devotion
Touch the heart lying deep in Britain's broad breast,
And may happiness dawn o'er that isle of the ocean
That gave to the Empire the sons she loved best.