The Call

E Far and near, high and clear, E Hark to the call of War. E Over the gorse and the golden dells, E Ringing and swinging the clamorous bells, E raying and saying of wild farewells: E War! War! War! E High and low, all must go: E Hark to the shout of War! E Leave to the women the harvest yield; E Gird ye, men, for the sinister field; E A sabre instead of a scythe to wield; E E F F War! Red war! F Rich and poor, lord and boor, F Hark to the blast of War! F Tinker and tailor and millionaire, F Actor in triumph and priest in prayer, F Comrades now in the hell out there, F Sweep to the fire of War! F Prince and page, sot and sage, F Hark to the roar of War! F Poet, professor and circus clown, F Chimney-sweep and fop of the town, F Into the pot and be melted down: F F F F# F# Into the pot of War! F# Women all, hear the call F# The pitiless call of War! F# Look your last on your dearest ones, F# Brothers and husbands, fathers, sons: F# Swift they go to the ravenous guns, F# F# G G The gluttonous guns of War. G Everywhere thrill the air G The maniac bells of War. G There will be little of sleeping to-night; G There will be wailing and weeping to-night; G Death's red sickle is reaping to-night: G G G G War! War! War! War! G G G G War! War! War! War! Gb War!