Men say it was a holy tide,
The Lord that sent it, He knows all,
And there was nought of strange, beside
The eerie ranks of pipers pied
In fields draped in scarlet pall.

Sadly, softly, gently calling,
Ere the early dews were falling,
Far away I heard their song,
Piping, piping all along,
Calling dead men, "Rise and follow!",
From the muddy, sunken hollow,
Faintly came their piercing song.

The soldiers where their hallows are,
Move on in sunset's ruddy ore,
Towards the pipers heard afar,
Onwards to the trench`ed bar,
Into the black and greedy maw.

Always softly, faintly calling
While the violet dusk was falling,
Far away, the pipers' song,
Marching, marching all along,
Drawing through the dead men's sorrow,
And as the night brought on the morrow
Fainter grew their calling song.

Into dark of night they go,
Grey and green, now all the same,
With the piercing tune they flow
Where the scarlet poppies blow
Across the Flanders fields tame.

Fading faintly, mutely calling
The dead men to the fields falling,
Till once more they hear the song,
Piping, piping all along,
Calling them from silent slumber;
The call again to unencumber;
The eerie pipers' haunting song.