Gethsemane

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 !

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