On through the hail of slaughter,
Where gallant comrades fall,
Where blood is poured like water,
They drive the trickling ball.
The fear of death before them,
Is but an empty name;
True to the land that bore them,
The SURREYS played the game!

On without check or falter,
They press toward the goal;
Who falls on freedom’s altar
The Lord shall rest his soul
But still they charge, the living,
Into that hell of flame;
Ungrudging in the giving,
Our soldiers play the game!

And now at last is ended
The task so well begun.
Though savagely defended
The lines of death are won.
In their hour of glory,
A deathless place they claim
In England’s splendid story,
The men who played the game!