What passing-bells for these who die as cattle? Only the monstrous anger of the guns Only the stuttering rifles' rapid rattle Can patter out their hasty orisons No mockeries now for them Nor any voice of mourning save the choirs No prayers nor bells, no tears on this land Under a stiff control, no words for their souls As an army of ants crushed by a tired boy from the life For the glory of a nation that kills its children with a knife Anthem for doomed youth on this land The shrill choirs of wailing shells And bugles calling from sad shires No prayers nor bells What candles may be held to speed them all? No prayers nor bells, no tears on this land Under a stiff control, no words for their souls As an army of ants crushed by a tired boy from the life For the glory of a nation that kills its children with a knife Anthem for doomed youth on this land Not in the hands of boys, but in their eyes Shall shine the holy glimmers of good-byes The pallor of girls' brows shall be their pall Their flowers the tenderness of patient minds And each slow dusk a drawing-down of blinds No prayers nor bells, no tears on this land Under a stiff control, no words for their souls As an army of ants crushed by a tired boy from the life For the glory of a nation that kills its children with a knife Anthem for doomed youth on this land No mockeries now for them Nor any voice of mourning save the choirs