What passing-bells for these who die as cattle?
Only the monstrous anger of the guns
Only the stuttering rifles' rapid rattle
Can patter out their hasty orisons
No mockeries now for them
Nor any voice of mourning save the choirs
No prayers nor bells, no tears on this land
Under a stiff control, no words for their souls
As an army of ants crushed by a tired boy from the life
For the glory of a nation that kills its children with a knife
Anthem for doomed youth on this land
The shrill choirs of wailing shells
And bugles calling from sad shires
No prayers nor bells
What candles may be held to speed them all?
No prayers nor bells, no tears on this land
Under a stiff control, no words for their souls
As an army of ants crushed by a tired boy from the life
For the glory of a nation that kills its children with a knife
Anthem for doomed youth on this land
Not in the hands of boys, but in their eyes
Shall shine the holy glimmers of good-byes
The pallor of girls' brows shall be their pall
Their flowers the tenderness of patient minds
And each slow dusk a drawing-down of blinds
No prayers nor bells, no tears on this land
Under a stiff control, no words for their souls
As an army of ants crushed by a tired boy from the life
For the glory of a nation that kills its children with a knife
Anthem for doomed youth on this land
No mockeries now for them
Nor any voice of mourning save the choirs
