(Great War) Squire Nagged And Bullied Till I Went To Fight (Under Lord Derby'S Scheme). I Died In Hell - (They Called It Passchendaele); My Wound Was Slight, And I Was Hobbling Back, And Then A Shell Burst Slick Upon The Duck-Boards; So I Fell Into The Bottomless Mud, And Lost The Light. In Sermon-Time, While Squire Is In His Pew, He Gives My Gilded Name A Thoughtful Stare; For Though Low Down Upon The List, I'm There: "In Proud And Glorious Memory" - That's My Due. Two Bleeding Years I Fought In France For Squire; I Suffered Anguish That He's Never Guessed; Once I Came Home On Leave; And Then Went West. What Greater Glory Could A Man Desire?