They’ll do his will who taught them, on the earth and on the waves,
Till land and sea are festering with their unnumbered graves.
The garrison and barrack and the fortress give them vent;
They sweep, a herd of winter wolves, upon the flying scent;
For all their deeds of horror they are told that death atones,
And their master’s harvest cannot spring till he has sowed their bones.
Into beasts of prey he’s turned them; when they show their teeth and growl
The lash is buried in their cheeks; they’re slaughtered if they howl;
To their bloody Lord of Battles must they only bend the knee,
For hard as steel and fierce as hell should cannon fodder be.