Glory

I went to see old Susan Gray,

Whose soldier sons had marched away,

And this is what she had to say:

“It is n't war I hate at all —

‘ Tis likely men must fight —

But, oh, these flags and uniforms,

It's them that is n't right!

If war must come, and come it does

To take our boys from play,

It is n't right to make it seem

So beautiful and gay.”

I left old Susan with a sigh;

A famous band was marching by

To make men glad they had to die.