What said they then, My letters home, From one week spent at war? They spoke of love, And lovely things, Those things I feel no more. Victory crowns, The Just, we know, So lead on kindly light, Lead on, lead on, With all your grace, And fight the faithful fight. What said they then, My letters home, From one year spent at war? They spoke of death, So noble-y, A fool; I saw no more. How proudly cries, The trumpet’s song? How bravely dies the man? Safe sleeping in, The arms of friends, As only heroes can. What said they then, My letters home, From two years spent at war? They spoke of cruel, And ugly things, But innocence no more. There is no hope, It’s clear, but still, I cannot understand, How falls a blow, So hard as that, Which falls on foolish man. What said they then, My letters home, From three years spent at war? They spoke of dread, So desperately; A prayer to see no more. How sadly cries, The trumpet’s song, How pitif’ly dies the man, Forgotten, sad, And terrified, Alone in distant lands. So what say they, My letters home, Now four years spent at war? Is warning sent, To those at home, From a world that’s no more? Now come, dear friends, With heed and haste, Come fight for Liberty! Next time, I’ll hope, With all my heart, It might be you, not me.