  By A Soldier. T Their lips are still as the lips of the dead, The gaze of their eyes is straight ahead; The tramp, tramp, tramp of ten thousand feet Keep time to that muffled, monotonous beat,— Rub a dub dub! rub a dub dub!Ten thousand more! and still they come To fight a battle for Christendom! With cannon and caissons, and flags unfurled, The foremost men in all the world! Rub a dub dub! rub a dub dub! The foe is entrenched on the frowning hill,— A natural fortress, strengthened by skill; But vain are the walls to those who face The champions of the human race! Rub a dub dub; rub a dub dub! “By regiment! Forward into line!” Then sabres and guns and bayonets shine. Oh ye, who feel your fate at last, Repeat the old prayer as your hearts beat fast! Rub a dub dub! rub a dub dub! Oh, ye who waited and prayed so long That Right might have a fair fight with Wrong, No more in fruitless marches shall plod, But smite the foe with the wrath of God! Rub a dub dub! rub a dub dub! O Death! what a charge that carried the hill! That carried, and kept, and holds it still! The foe is broken and flying with fear, While far on their route our drummers I hear,— Rub a dub dub! rub a dub dub! Banner Banner
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