Oh, I don't know how to say it, but I'll never think of you
Without wishing I were sharing in the work you have to do.
I have never known a moment that was fraught with real care,
Save the hurts and griefs of sorrow that all mortals have to bear;
With the gay and smiling marchers I have tramped on pleasant ways,
And have paid with feeble service for the gladness of my days.
But to you has come a summons, yours are days of sacrifice,
And for all life has of sweetness you must pay a bitter price.
Men have fought and died before me, men must fight and die to-day,
I have merely taken pleasures for which others had to pay;