Where, clad in garments whiter than the dove, he’ll stay.
And now no more he’ll walk that street, where sleet
And slush so cruel hurt his feet; repeat
No more his song of paper vending,
Shiver no more while restless horse attending,
But join in song triumphant, never ending and sweet.
But on this day of this November, remember
Tommies there are, with feet as cold and tender, remember,
As his once were, who now on golden strand
Meet rich and poor, of this and every land.