But the boy that she's so fond of has a life to live on earth,
And he hungers to be busy with the work that is of worth.
He will sicken and grow timid, he'll be flesh without a heart
Until death at last shall claim him, if he doesn't do his part.
Have you kept him, gentle mother? Has he lost his old-time cheer?
Is he silent, sad and sullen? Are his eyes no longer clear?
Is he growing weak and flabby who but yesterday was strong?
Then a secret grief he's nursing and I'll tell you what is wrong.
All his comrades have departed on their country's noblest work,
And he hungers to be with them—it is not his wish to shirk.