All the lads have gone out to play
At being soldiers, far away;
They won't be back for many a day,
And some won't be back any morning.

All the lassies who laughing were
When hearts were light and lads were here,
Go sad-eyed, wandering hither and there—
They pray and they watch for the morning.

Every house has its vacant bed
And every night, when sounds are dead,
Some woman yearns for the pillowed head
Of him who marched out in the morning.

Of all the lads who've gone out to play
There's some'll return and some who'll stay;
There's some will be back 'most any day—
But some won't wake up in the morning.