Can a soljer 'elp 'is singin' when 'e's born in sich a land?
Wiv the sunshine an' the music pourin' out on ev'ry 'and,
Where the very air is singin', an' each breeze that blows is bringin'
'Armony an' mirth an' music fit to beat the blazin' band.
On the march, an' in the trenches, when a swingin' chorus starts.
They are pourin' bottled sunshine of their 'Omeland frum their 'earts.
O I've 'eard it, Lord, I've 'eard it since the days when I wus young,
On the beach an' in the bar-room, in the bush I've 'eard it sung;
"Belle Mahone" an' "Annie Laurie," "Sweet Marie" to "Tobermory,"
Common toons and common voices, but I've 'eard 'em when they rung
Wiv full, 'appy 'earts be'ind 'em, careless as a thrush's song—
Wiv me arm around me cliner, an' me notions fur frum wrong.
So they growed wiv 'earts a-singin' since the days uv careless kids;
Beefin' out an 'appy chorus jist when Mother Nacher bids;
Singin', wiv their notes a-quiver, "Down upon the Swanee River,"
