We often sit and wonder,
Our thoughts they often stray,
To where our boys are fighting,
In France, so far away.

I’m sure we all are proud of them,
Who’ve nobly gone so far
From home and friends they dearly loved,
To the stormy fields of war.

When we look through the paper,
And read of a great advance,
We know our lads are fighting well,
Somewhere out in France.

They’re driving back the Germans,
The Turks and Austrians, too,
They’re finding now ‘tis hard to fight
The Red, White and Blue.

But our hearts turn sad and weary,
And then our tear-drops fall,
When we hear of some poor lad
Who has answered the last roll call.

There’s many a lad whom we knew well
Now fills a hero’s grave,
Who gallantly fell fighting,
His country to save.

We cannot help but grieve for them,
‘Tis hard we know to bear,
But there is One who’ll comfort you,
So kneel to Him in prayer.

And don’t forget our soldier lads,
In France, so far away,
Remember, oh, remember them
Every time you pray.

Pray that they very soon may come,
Victorious o’er the foam
So let us keep the home fires burning,
Till the boys come marching home.

W. M. Spence, Tullygrawley, 9th February 1918

Total Page Visits: 519 - Today Page Visits: 1