With loud talking and laughter,
And a long, careless stride,
He paces the crowded pathway,
With head high in pride.
And mean men passing beside him
Shrink, as from one unclean,
From the strong son of England,
The servant of the Queen.

In the forefront of battle
I think I see him ride,
With the drawn sabre gleaming
That swings at his side;
With a bearing erect and stalwart,
And a look calm and keen,
The strong son of England,
The servant of the Queen.

When the drums beat to battle,
With a quick-leaping breath,
'Mid the rush and hurry of warfare
He rides down to death.
And the waiting and toil and hardship
Are as if they had not been
To the strong son of England,
The servant of the Queen.

When the wild charge is over
And the safe ground they gain,
He may hear a cry from behind him
Of a comrade in pain.
And back on his way of mercy
To the smoke-mantled scene
Goes the strong son of England,
The servant of the Queen.