Once more the Gloster held the gap till last,
Once more the old, the grim and gory story,
Once more the great tradition carried on,
Once more the mother of mourning o'er the son,
Once more the Glory!
Once more the foreign soil-nay 'tis to God,
To Paradise, their happy spirits rise!
'Tis we who mourn the heroic dead who died,
Envying them their end, their peace, their pride.