The Green Brigade

ON THE FIELD OF CORN     Where is the war ye march unto,     From the early tents of morn?     And what are the deeds ye hope to do,     Brave Grenadiers of Corn?     Pearls of the dew are on your hair,     And the jewels of morning light,     Pennants of green ye fling to the air,     And the tall plumes waving bright.     Gaily away and steady ye go,     Never a faltering line:     Forward! I follow and try to know     Word of your countersign:     Hist! The spies of the tyrant sun     Eagerly watch your plan,     Lavish with bribes of gold, they run     Down to your outmost man.     Steady, good lads, go bravely on     By the parching hills of pain,     An armor of shade ye soon may don     And meet the allies of rain:     And night in the bivouac hours will sing     Praise of the march ye made,     And into your pockets good gold will bring,     Men of the Green Brigade.     Yea, and upon September's field,     When the long campaign is done,     With arms up-stacked, your hearts will yield     Conquest of rain and sun:     The pennants and plumes will then be sere,     Your pearls delight no morn,     But tents of plenty will bless the year,     Brave Grenadiers of Corn.