Oh, not for me will be a grave
With cross-marked stone to view!
I die upon the field of death;
My name will perish too.

And not for me a splendid bier,
Or burial's pageant vain,
Or family to mourn for me,
Or friends for funeral train.

My tomb, which my own hands have dug,
Will be a trench profound;
The graves of thousands of the dead
With mine will make a mound.

Then strip me of my uniform,
My arms and honours proud,
And leave me but my blood-stained shirt
To serve me for a shroud.

A soldier's corpse is valued not;
Within a trench to lie
'Tis cast, as on the threshing floor
The sheaves are piled on high.

We from the battle-field set out,
And we have reached our rest.
Tired soldiers of the field of blood,
Sleep with untroubled breast!

At Gabriel's trump, our mound shall stir,
And as in fresher guise
Eagles their plumage strong renew,
We to new life shall rise.

Christ comes as judge, and all earth's thrones
Before God's bar are set.
The judgement of the field of blood
Just God will not forget.

Ye living soldiers, fare ye well!
I leave this world. I bore
The sword, and perished by the sword,
As Christ foretold of yore.

A farmer God created man,
The soil to dress and till;
Curst be the hand whose wicked art
Has taught him blood to spill!

Wise men predict a golden age
When peace o'er earth shall breathe,
When kings shall all be reconciled,
And swear the sword to sheathe.

The lion shall gentle grow, the wolf
Browse by the lamb in peace,
The fields of blood with lilies bloom,
And all earth's conflicts cease.

A dream! I do not credit it.
Christ's words come back to me,
That nation shall 'gainst nation rise,
Earth be a bloody sea.

O Jesus, Saviour bringing peace!
Our world you came and saw.
Men are insane; they have not yet
Mastered your gospel's law.

Angel of love incarnated!
You said all men that live
Are brethren; give to us your peace,
Which this world cannot give!