All you who live at home at ease, and sleep on beds of down
Pray think of our brave soldiers who lie frozen on the ground,
In the camp before Sebastopol, in mud up to their knees,
The flower of our Army there, has perished by disease.
For England’s gallant soldiers you will sympathize I’m sure

No pen can write or tongue can tell the hardships they endure.

From the camp to Balaklava like horses they work,

Up to their knees in mud and snow, with neither shoes or shirt,
Then starving in the trenches and guarding of the ground,

Crushed with fatigue and hunger they in deaths cold arms are found.
For England’s, &c.

Fathers cry my dearest son then weep in grief and woe,
Mothers cry my darling boy has perished in the snow,
Wives in agony lament in sorrow and despair

While the pretty little children cry where is my father dear.
For England’s, &c.

I heard a maid lamenting, in grief she scarce could stand,
Saying my father died at Alma and my love at Inkerman,
My brother dear was wounded by the cursed enemy,

And now lies in the hospital at the town of Scutari.
For England’s, &c.

The glory of Britannia, England’s gallant soldiers bold,

Endured the greatest misery before Sebastopol,

Crushed with fatigue and hunger they braved danger with a smile,
No nation in the world can match the sons of Britain’s Isle.
For England’s, &c.

In filth and dirt without a shirt to shield them from the cold,
A wet blanket wrapped around them, how dreadful to behold,
Without a bed to lie their head but are compelled alas—
To lie fatigued and hungry upon the frozen grass.
For England’s, &c.

The French are well provided for, their wants into are seen,
They have a friend a Bonaparte, and not an Aberdeen,

But Britons are neglected, and doomed in youth and bloom,
To die an early death and lay within the silent tomb.
For England’s, &c.

Oh God protect our soldiers with thy Almighty hand,

Grant them a victory and guide them to their native land,
Befriend their wives and children since war caused them to part,
Protect their aged parents, and ease their aching heart.
For England’s, &c.

Come sympathize with me my friends, refuse you’ll not I’m sure
For our gallant British soldiers who such hardships do endure,
Who bear it all with patience and meets danger with a smile,
May God protect our soldiers bold, the sons of Britain’s Isle.
For England’s, &c.