Gay flags flying down the street;
Comes the drum's insistent beat
Like a fierce, gigantic pulse,
And the screaming fife exults.
Soldier, soldier, spic and span,
Aren't you the lucky man;
Splendid in your gold and blue--
How the small boy envies you!
Oh, there's glory for you here--
Girls to smile and men to cheer;
Bands behind and bands before
Thrilling with the lust of War.
Soldier, soldier, proud as though
Marching to a sanguine foe,
Bravely would you face the brink
Fired with music, and with drink...
Stalwart warrior pass, and be
Glad you are not such as we--
We, who, without flags or drums,
March to battle in the slums.
Regiments of workers--we
Are a foolish soldiery,
Combating, till we convert,
Ignorance, disease and dirt...
Soldier, soldier, look--and then
Laugh at us poor fighting-men,
Struggling on, though every street
Is the scene of our defeat.
Laugh at us, who, day by day
Come back beaten from the fray;
We, who find our work undone--
We, whose wars are never won.
_Gay flags flying down the street;
Comes the drum's insistent beat
Like a fierce, gigantic pulse--
And the screaming fife exults!_