  Early on an autumn morning, Facing famous Courcellette, Lay the Twenty-fifth battalion, In the trenches damp and wet; Far away from home and kindred, Near the far-famed river Somme, Here and there a man lay dying, Stricken by a shell or bomb. Men of every trade and calling, Of each company formed a part, Downy youth and bearded manhood From the farm and from the mart, Miners, farmers, sailors, tradesmen, From each hamlet, town and glen, Born of Nova Scotian mothers From the breed of manly men. All alert and ever watching, On the guard both day and night, Each one ever his part doing, In the struggle for the right; Thinking always of the homeland Far away in Acadie, Of a mother, wife, or sister Whom they never more might see. On the high hills overlooking, All the country down below, In their deep concreted dugouts, Lay the ever watchful foe; With artillery commanding All the hills for miles around, Through which, like a thread of silver, River Somme its free way wound. There were Saxons and Bavarians In the Hun’s embattled host, And the fierce and bloody Uhlans Whom the Kaiser loves to toast; Where they stood in close formation Like a solid human block Fronted by the famous fighters Called the troops of battle shock. When upon the morn in question, Just about the break of day, Word the Twenty-fifth was given To make ready for the fray; And they sprang up from their trenches Like the wild lynx with a bound, And they rushed without a falter Right across the barrage ground; And they fell upon the Germans Like an avalanche of hail, And the Teutons bent before them Like the grain before the gale. And with irresisting fury They assailed the faltering Hun, And before the day was over Famous Courcellette was won. Then let mothers tell their babies Whom they nurse upon their breasts, And the teachers tell the children In our schools from east to west, How at Courcellette’s fierce battle, An undying name was made By the Twenty-fifth battalion Of the fighting fifth brigade. |
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