Explore "A Yankee in the Trenches" by Robert DerHolmes on Textopian. Read with annotations and highlights.
Marching, marching, marching, / Always ruddy well marching. / Marching all the morning, / And marching all the night. / Marching, marching, marching, / Always ruddy well marching, / Roll on till my time is up / And I shall march no more.
We sung it to the tune of "Holy, Holy, Holy," the whole blooming battalion. As we swung down the Boulevard Alsace-Lorraine in Amiens and passed the great cathedral up there to the left, on its little rise of ground, the chant lifted and lilted and throbbed up from near a thousand throats, much as the unisoned devotions of the olden monks must have done in other days.