We brought you food, we dragged your
    We bore the brunt of shot and shell,
We helped with will against the Huns,
Till worn and over-taxed we fell.
Give us the rest and cure we crave,
Nor let less kindly hands enslave.

If ever Europe breathes again,
If ever victory crown the right,
Can you forget the cruel strain,
Of roads that led toward the fight,
Deep mud above the axle tree,
We struggled through to make you free?

Wherefore, oh, kindly British heart,
Have pity on our brotherhood,
In thanks that we have done our part,
Who gave our strength for Empire’s
Thy servants at the King’s command,
Give us back health to help the land.

(Bournemouth Graphic, 1917, 13 April, p. 5)