'Tis her sacrifice has made it, and once more we ought to pray
For the brave and loyal mother of the boy that goes away.
There are days of grief before her, there are hours that she will weep,
There are nights of anxious waiting when her fear will banish sleep;
She has heard her country calling and has risen to the test,
And has placed upon the altar of the nation's need, her best.
And no man shall ever surfer in the turmoil of the fray
The anguish of the mother of the boy who goes away.
You may boast men's deeds of glory, you may tell their courage great,
But to die is easier service than alone to sit and wait,