The Canadian Army

The news, "the Old Land's in it," Stirred us one August morn, Then waited not a minute The fearless British born. They were the first to offer To die for England's name Scorning the shirking scoffer, Who would not play the game.

But when the German Kaiser Of victories could brag, Canadians got wiser And rallied round the flag. The Orangemen, stout-hearted, The cheery lads in green, When once the ball was started In khaki garb were seen.

A regiment of Tories, A regiment of Grits, Discarded party worries To give the Kaiser fits. Battalions of free thinkers and regiments of Jews And some of water drinkers, And some that hit the booze.

A regiment of Chinese, A regiment of Yanks, A regiment with fine knees And bare and brawny shanks, A regiment of teachers Who laid aside the birch, And one of sons of preachers, A credit to the Church.

A regiment of Colonels, Who couldn't get a sit, (To judge by their externals They're feeling fine and fit); A regiment of slackers, A regiment of thieves, And one of bold bushwhackers, All wearing maple leaves.

Battalions, too, of Frenchmen, The breed that never yields, Are making splendid trench men, On Belgium's bloody fields. Battalions from the prairies Now man the smoking tubes; From London and St. Marys, A regiment of rubes.

Thus, to defend the nation, They rallied to a man, Our fighting population So cosmopolitan. Not one from danger blenches, They vie in skill and pluck And when they reach the trenches, We call them all Canuck.