Where is the Hindenburg Line?
Sung to the same tune as the famous old song, “Where is mein leedle dog gone.”
REFRAIN
Where, oh where is the Hindenburg Line
That is drawn on the land and the sea?
’Tis a puzzle to find, this Hindenburg Line,
Oh where! Oh where can it be?
Where, Oh where is the Hindenburg Line
Where Hindenburg’s going to stand
And fight with his might against all that is right,
All for love of his own Vaterland?
Where, etc.
Billy and Sandy, and Davy and Pat,
Along with their comrades of France,
Are trying to find this wonderful line,
And make the old Hindenburg dance.
Where, etc.
If Hindenburg waits on the Hindenburg Line,
His dangers increase without doubt,
For the Yankees will find him and surely compel
The boasting old cuss to get out.
Where, etc.
Forward! the brave of the mountain and valley;
Forward! the brave of the country and town;
Forward! the bravest and best of the city;
Forward to glory and deathless renown!
Know that we’re fighting for honour and freedom.
Know that we strike in humanity’s cause;
Blood of the innocent bids us remember
To stand for the right and humanity’s laws.
Count not the cost in the brave who have fallen;
For them the dark night with its trial is o’er;
For we must fight on till the clarion call
Of the Right shall be heard from shore unto shore.
Free the white slaves from the power of the tyrant!
Drive down oppression in every land!
Know that by honest and dauntless endeavour
We nations can bind in a glorious band.
By M’ARTHUR.
Song.
Some foolishly wander across the wide billows,
Allured by the gold-bearing streams of the West,
They dream California can yield them a pillow,
Whereon they in safety and comfort may rest.
CHORUS.
But Wanlock, dear Wanlock,
I’ll not leave thy waters;
My home is beside thee,
The home I lo’e best.
When spring’s gentle sun o’er the Lowthers is rising,
When summer wi’ verdure their still sides has dressed,
I’ll wander these glens, foreign landscapes despising,
For these are the scenes still most dear to my breast.
CHORUS.
’Tis true that we dwell where the stormy winds gather,
And thunder-clouds burst on the wild mountain’s crest,
But, Oh! to reside near the home of my fathers
Is dearer to me than the gold of the West.
CHORUS.
In autumn we’ll roam through the sweet blooming heather
That clothes the Auld Dod in a bright crimson vest;
And in winter, wi’ wife and bairns gathered together,
Around our warm ingle we’ll sing and be blest.
CHORUS.
Then Wanlock, dear Wanlock,
I’ll not leave thy waters;
For even in death down beside
Thee I’ll rest.