In the front line trench he labored, and he knew the feel of mud,
And he didn't run from danger and he wasn't scared of blood.
He wrote letters for the wounded, and he cheered them with his jokes,
And he never made a visit without passing round the smokes.
Then one day a bullet got him, as he knelt beside a lad
Who was "going west" right speedy, and they both seemed mighty glad,
'Cause he held the boy's hand tighter, and he smiled and whispered low,
"Now you needn't fear the journey; over there with you I'll go."
And they both passed out together, arm in arm I think they went.
He had kept his vow to follow everywhere the boys were sent.