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 thirsty for fight-
These men were born to drill and die.
The explained 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 the 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