Do not weep, maiden, for war is kind.

Because your lover threw wild hands toward the sky

And the affrighted steed ran on alone,

Do not weep.

War is kind.



   Hoarse, booming drums of the regiment

   Little souls who thirst for fight,

   These men were born to drill and die

   The unexplained glory flies above them

   Great is the battle-god, great, and his kingdom--

   A field where a thousand corpses lie.



Do not weep, babe, for war is kind.

Because your father tumbled in the yellow trenches,

Raged at his breast, gulped and died,

Do not weep.

War is kind.



   Swift, blazing flag of the regiment

   Eagle with crest of red and gold,

   These men were born to drill and die

   Point for them the virtue of slaughter

   Make plain to them the excellence of killing

   And a field where a thousand corpses lie.



Mother whose heart hung humble as a button

On the bright splendid shroud of your son,

Do not weep.

War is kind.