BATTLE-CRIES

Yes, Jim hez gone — ye did n't know?

He's fightin’ at the front.

It's him as bears‘ his country's hopes’.

An’ me as bears the brunt.

Wen war bruk out Jim‘ lowed he'd go —

He allus loved a scrap —

Ye see, the home war n't jest the place

Fer sech a lively chap.

O’ course, the work seems ruther hard;

The kids is ruther small —

It ai n't that I am sore at Jim,

I envy him — that's all.

He does n't know what he's about

An’ cares still less, does Jim...

With all his loose an’ roarin’ ways

I wisht that I was him.

It makes him glad an’ drunken-like

That music an’ the smoke;

An’ w'en they shout, the whole thing seems

A picnic an’ a joke.

Oh, yellin’ puts a heart in ye,

An’ stren'th into yer blows —

I wisht that I could hears those cheers

Washin’ the neighbors clo'es...

It's funny how some things work out —

Life is so strange, Lord love us —

Here am I, workin’ night an’ day

To keep a roof above us;

An’ Jim is somewhere in the south,

An’ Jim ai n't really bad,

A-runnin’ round an’ raisin’ Cain,

An’ stabbin’ some kid's dad.

But that's w'at men are made for — eh?

W'at else is there for me

But workin’ on till Jim comes home,

Sick of his bloody spree.