Who shall make the kingdoms tremble and the nations understand.
Tramp! tramp! tramp! the cannon fodder comes.
God help the old; God help the young; God help the hearths and homes.
They'll do his will that taught them, on the earth and on the waves,
Then, like faithful cannon fodder, still salute him from their graves.
From the barrack and the fortress they are pouring in a flood;
They sweep, a herd of winter wolves, upon the scent of blood;
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