Lord God Of Hosts, Be With Us

What Is A Woman That You Forsake Her, And The Hearth-fire And The Home-acre, To Go With The Old Grey Widow-maker?

Borrow Trouble For Yourself, If That's Your Nature, But Don't Lend It To Your Neighbours.

Ye May Kill For Yourselves, And Your Mates, And Your Cubs As They Need, And Ye Can; But Kill Not For Pleasure Of Killing, And Seven Times Never Kill Man!

When You're Wounded And Left On Afghanistan's Plains, And The Women Come Out To Cut Up What Remains, Jest Roll To Your Rifle And Blow Out Your Brains And Go To Your Gawd Like A Soldier.

When Earth's Last Picture Is Painted And The Tubes Are Twisted And Dried, When The Oldest Colours Have Faded, And The Youngest Critic Has Died, We Shall Rest, And, Faith, We Shall Need It Lie Down For An Aeon Or Two, Till The Master Of All Good Workmen Shall Put Us To Work Anew!