  We were summoned from the play-ground, We were called in from the wood, And our country found us ready At the stirring call for food. Do not add unto our burden, If you hap to pass along, For, although our backs are breaking, You can hear us sing this song:— CHORUS Keep the gardens growing, Digging, planting, hoeing; If you plant and weed aright The crop will grow. Do not stand repining While the sun is shining, Turn the good soil inside out, And fertilize and sow. Mother Britain sent a message, To her daughter in the West, “We need every kind of food-stuffs,” So we’re bound to do our best; For the soldiers in the trenches And the homeland we must feed, And no worthy son will fail her, When his mother is in need. |
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