Just look at that little boy corporal there,

      Such a fine upstanding lad,

Wi’ a will uv ‘is own, and a way uv ‘is own,

      And a smile uv ‘is own, ‘e ‘ad.

An hour ago ‘e were bustin’ wi’ life,

      Wi’ ‘is actin’ and foolin’ and fun;

‘E were simply the life on us all, ‘e were,

      Now look what the blighters ‘a done.

Look at ‘im lyin’ there all uv a ‘eap,

      Wi’ the blood soaken over ‘is ‘ead,

Like a beautiful picture spoiled by a fool,

      A bundle o’ nothin’–dead.

And it ain’t only ‘im–there’s a mother at ‘ome,

      And ‘e were the pride of ‘er life.

For it’s women as pays in a thousand ways

      For the madness o’ this ‘ere strife.

And the lovin’ God ‘E looks down on it all,

      On the blood and the mud and the smell.

O God, if it’s true, ‘ow I pities you,

      For ye must be livin’ i’ ‘ell.

You must be livin’ i’ ‘ell all day,

      And livin’ i’ ‘ell all night.

I’d rather be dead, wiv a ‘ole through my ‘ead,

      I would, by a damn long sight,

Than be livin’ wi’ you on your ‘eavenly throne,

      Lookin’ down on yon bloody ‘cap

That were once a boy full o’ life and joy,

      And ‘earin’ ‘is mother weep.

The sorrows o’ God must be ‘ard to bear

      If ‘E really ‘as Love in ‘Is ‘eart,

And the ‘ardest part i’ the world to play

      Must surely be God’s part.

And I wonder if that’s what it really means,

      That Figure what ‘angs on the Cross.

I remember I seed one t’other day

      As I stood wi’ the captain’s ‘oss.

I remember, I thinks, thinks I to mysel’,

      It’s a long time since ‘E died,

Yet the world don’t seem much better to-day

      Then when ‘E were crucified.

It’s allus the same, as it seems to me,

      The weakest must go to the wall,

And whether e’s right, or whether e’s wrong,

      It don’t seem to matter at all.

The better ye are and the ‘arder it is,

      The ‘arder ye ‘ave to fight,

It’s a cruel ‘ard world for any bloke

      What does the thing as is right.

And that’s ‘ow ‘E came to be crucified,

      For that’s what ‘E tried to do.

‘E were allus a-tryin’ to do ‘Is best

      For the likes o’ me and you.

Well, what if ‘E came to the earth to-day,

      Came walkin’ about this trench,

‘Ow ‘Is ‘eart would bleed for the sights ‘E seed,

      I’ the mud and the blood and the stench.

And I guess it would finish ‘Im up for good

      When ‘E came to this old sap end,

And ‘E seed that bundle o’ nothin’ there,

      For ‘E wept at the grave uv ‘Is friend.

And they say ‘E were just the image o’ God.

      I wonder if God sheds tears,

I wonder if God can be sorrowin’ still,

      And ‘as been all these years.

I wonder if that’s what it really means,

      Not only that ‘E once died,

Not only that ‘E came once to the earth

      And wept and were crucified?

Not just that ‘E suffered once for all

      To save us from our sins,

And then went up to ‘Is throne on ‘igh

      To wait till ‘Is ‘eaven begins.

But what if ‘E came to the earth to show,

      By the paths o’ pain that ‘E trod,

The blistering flame of eternal shame

      That burns in the heart o’ God?

O God, if that’s ‘ow it really is,

      Why, bless ye, I understands,

And I feels for you wi’ your thorn-crowned ‘ead

      And your ever pierced ‘ands.

But why don’t ye bust the show to bits,

      And force us to do your will?

Why ever should God be suffering so

      And man be sinning still?

Why don’t ye make your voice ring out,

      And drown these cursed guns?

Why don’t ye stand with an outstretched ‘and,

      Out there ‘twixt us and the ‘Uns?

Why don’t ye force us to end the war

      And fix up a lasting peace?

Why don’t ye will that the world be still

      And wars for ever cease?

That’s what I’d do, if I was you,

      And I had a lot o’ sons

What squabbled and fought and spoilt their ‘ome,

      Same as us boys and the ‘Uns.

And yet, I remember, a lad o’ mine,

      ‘E’s fightin’ now on the sea,

And ‘e were a thorn in ‘is mother’s side,

      And the plague o’ my life to me.

Lord, ‘ow I used to swish that lad

      Till ‘e fairly yelped wi’ pain,

But fast as I thrashed one devil out

      Another popped in again.

And at last, when ‘e grew up a strappin’ lad,

      ‘E ups and ‘e says to me,

“My will’s my own and my life’s my own,

      And I’m goin’, Dad, to sea.”

And ‘e went, for I ‘adn’t broke ‘is will,

      Though God knows ‘ow I tried,

And ‘e never set eyes on my face again

      Till the day as ‘is mother died.

Well, maybe that’s ‘ow it is wi’ God,

      ‘Is sons ‘ave got to be free;

Their wills are their own, and their lives their own,

      And that’s ‘ow it ‘as to be.

So the Father God goes sorrowing still

      For ‘Is world what ‘as gone to sea,

But ‘E runs up a light on Calvary’s ‘eight

      That beckons to you and me.

The beacon light of the sorrow of God

      ‘As been shinin’ down the years,

A-flashin’ its light through the darkest night

      O’ our ‘uman blood and tears.

There’s a sight o’ things what I thought was strange,

For the voice of the Lord, as I ‘ears it now,

      Is the voice of my pals what bled,

And the call of my country’s God to me

      Is the call of my country’s dead.