Lament of a Soldier

O Mother! O Mother! How sweet is

Thy name!
O Mother! O Mother! Widespread is
Your fame;
O Mother! O Mother! We too are Your
children,
O Mother! O Mother! Why are we
forsaken?

Sweet, it’s not, in this Valley of Roses,

Stinking, it is, with the fallen corpses;
Red, it’s not, with the garden roses,
Blood, it is, from our fighting
brothers.

Cold, it’s not, from snow and rain,

Chill in the spine, when we see the
slain;
Silent, it’s not, from the mountain
calmness,
Deathly gloom, from the fighting
madness.

Heavy, it’s not, the breeze from the

lake,
Tears it has, for our soldiers’ sake;
When do you think these sorrows
drown?
When Mother gets back Her Crown…