Glory
I went to see old Susan Gray,
Whose soldier sons had marched away,
And this is what she had to say:
“It isn’t war I hate at all—
’Tis likely men must fight—
But, oh, these flags and uniforms,
It’s them that isn’t right!
If war must come, and come it does
To take our boys from play,
It isn’t right to make it seem
So beautiful and gay.”
I left old Susan with a sigh;
A famous band was marching by
To make men glad they had to die.