Parched are the plains and bare,
Dusty and eaten out:
Animals everywhere
Perish in dumb despair;
For the land is held in the iron grip
Of the enemy General Drought!
Who shall deliver us?
Who shall assuage our pain?
Men in their bitter grief,
Pray that they get relief,
That help may come from the friendly hand
Of our ally, General Rain.
Look at those flying mists
Sweeping across the plain!
These are the lads of the Light Brigade,
Light but fearless and undismayed;
They are the van of the first attack
Of the Valiant General rain.
Now are the light brigade
Baffled and beaten back:
But the blast of the rain-wind fifing clear,
Rallies its forces far and near
On the grand attack.
Out of the stormy south
To the sound of the thunder’s drum,
Peal upon peal, and crash on crash,
To the heliograph of the lightning flash,
The big battalions come!
Look at those big black clouds,
Gathering out at sea!
Never the swiftest war horse yet
Moved as they move, all stern and set,
On to their victory!
Never a Maxim Gun
Shoots like the stinging hail,
Never the blast of a fifer rings
Clear as the call that the storm wind sings
As the foe begins to fall.
Now may our thanks ascend
Over the smiling plain.
Thanks let us give that the foe falls back,
Crushed by the might of the fierce attack
Of the valiant General Rain.
