Too good for the knacker, too poor for the lurry!
Let him go to the army that buys in a hurry!
Too good for the kennels, too poor for another,
Let him carry thy destiny, England my mother!

What seek you, what seek you, anear and afar?
'Steeds for my merry men riding to war:
From the pastures of England I ask in my need
The stout heart for labour, the fleet foot for speed.

'Grimly my guns lie: the drivers beside
Yearn for the sight of the teams they must ride:
Loaded my wains are with war's heavy freighting;
All booted and spurred there my yeomen stand waiting.'

Have you sought the land over? 'Yea, truly have I;
Broad lie the good pastures beneath the grey sky;
I heard the wild wind and I heard the birds' crying,
But never a neigh to my heart's call replying.

'Where were the stallions, all courage and fire,
To beget the clean limbs and the hearts that ne'er tire?
Where were they, the mares that should bear the brave sons
For rush o' the squadrons and roar o' the guns?'

For the fate of an empire, her life and her fame,
The laggard, the stumbler, the faint heart, the lame!
For the red stricken field whereon nations depend,
The splint and the spavin and bellows to mend!

Too good for the knacker, too poor for the lurry,
Let him go to the army that buys in a hurry!
Too good for the kennels, too poor for another,
Let him carry thy destiny, England my mother!