WHEN THE BOYS COME HOME.

By John Hay

There's a happy time coming,

When the boys come home.

There's a glorious day coming,

When the boys come home.

We will end the dreadful story

Of this treason dark and gory

In a sunburst of glory,

When the boys come home.

The day will seem brighter

When the boys come home,

For our hearts will be lighter

When the boys come home.

Wives and sweethearts will press them

In their arms and caress them,

And pray God to bless them,

When the boys come home.

The thinned ranks will be proudest

When the boys come home,

And their cheer will ring the loudest

When the boys come home.

The full ranks will be shattered,

And the bright arms will be battered,

And the battle-standards tattered,

When the boys come home.

Their bayonets may be rusty,

When the boys come home,

And their uniforms dusty,

When the boys come home.

But all shall see the traces

Of battle's royal graces,

In the brown and bearded faces,

When the boys come home.

Our love shall go to meet them,

When the boys come home,

To bless them and to greet them,

When the boys come home;

And the fame of their endeavour

Time and change shall not dissever

From the nation's heart for ever,

When the boys come home.