As up and down I fare by road and street The mothers of our men-at-arms I meet Who die for mine and me, That we go safe and free,
Sit in the sun, sleep soft and find life sweet.
I have two sons too young to fight, too young,
God grant if my hour comes I may be strong, And caught in such a strait May praise God and be great,
Giving my sons to save some woman from wrong!
Oh, mothers of dead heroes, ye I know,
My heart sends you a greeting, soft and low; Blessed are ye whose sons Amid the ransomed
Throng to the banners of Heaven as white as snow.
Somehow, by some secret and certain sign,
The mothers of the beloved I divine Who died in my sons' place. My heart kneels and gives grace.
Gives thanks for you, for you, proud sisters of mine!
