The Garden called Gethsemane 
  In Picardy it was,

And there the people came to see
  The English soldiers pass.

We used to pass - we used to pass
  Or halt, as it might be,

And ship our masks in case of gas
  Beyond Gethsemane. 

The Garden called Gethsemane,
  It held a pretty lass,

But all the time she talked to me
  I prayed my cup might pass.

The officer sat on the chair,
  The men lay on the grass,

And all the time we halted there
  I prayed my cup might pass. 

It didn't pass - it didn't pass
  It didn't pass from me.

I drank it when we met the gas
  Beyond Gethsemane !