We have drank from the same canteen.
We have shared our blankets and tents together,
And have marched and fought in all kinds of weather,
And hungry and full we have been;
Had days of battle and days of rest;
But this memory I cling to, and love the best—
We have drank from the same canteen.
For when wounded I lay on the outer slope,
With my blood flowing fast, and but little to hope
Upon which my faint spirit could lean,