In the prison cell I sit, thinking Mother dear of you
And our bright and happy home so far away.
And the tears they fill my eyes ‘spite of all that I can do,
Though I try to cheer my comrades and be gay.
Tramp! tramp! tramp! The boys are marching!
Cheer up comrades, they will come.
And beneath the starry flag, we will breathe the air again
Of the freeland in our own beloved home.
In the battle-front we stood when their fiercest charge they made
And they swept us off, a hundred men or more.
But before we’d reached their lines, they were beaten back dismayed
And we heard the cry of “Vict’ry!” o’er and o’er.
Now within the prison cell we are waiting for the day
That will come to open wide the iron door.
And the hollow eye grows bright, and the poor heart almost gay
When we think of seeing home and friends once more.