Hill Song

The foe is far away,
No "Gotha" hums on high,
And things that snarl and slay
Harm neither ear or eye.

Our home is in the hills,
Above the crimson veil
That hangs around the danger-zone,
Where giant shells assail.

Though every nook and glade
Be strewn with withered flowers,
Much ease and soothing shade
This tranquil day are ours;
And every little leaf Is dancing on the stem,
For joy is in the olive trees
That girdle Bethlehem.

Where scarlet blossoms flame
On pomegranate trees,
Our thankful hearts acclaim
Gay birds and honey-bees.
We welcome, and inhale
The fragrant atmosphere,
And praise the calm that sanctifies
The mountains of Judæa.

When gravest tidings wrought
The fall of aching feet,
Full bitterly we fought
The turmoil and the heat;
Now good it is to sprawl
At leisure, and forget
That further north the enemy
Is undefeated yet.

We never will give way,
And neither must we grieve.
For we shall win the fray
We earnestly believe;
And when the call to arms
Arises stern and plain,
We'll steel ourselves to meet the foe.
And saddle up again.

Then down amidst the dust
We'll face the Devil's fire,
And satisfy his lust,
And quell his last desire;
But here, amongst the hills,
We bless this day of ease,
And dream of peace and happiness
Beneath the olive trees.

Palestine. "Gerardy."