Lord, when he shall come home from war, br Give him no pastures green, br But a wet wind and a soft wind br With reek of turf between. br br Nor let Thy light shine overmuch br Lest that his soul should fret br For the grey mist and silver mist br That he will not forget. br br Build him no pearl-white palaces br Nor gardens fair and fine, br Lest for his bare, far-stretching bogs br His home-sick heart should pine. br br Not groves, nor any vermeil walks, br Nor flowery pastures pied, br But the great sweep of sky and land br And the hills at eventide. br br Lord, when the men come from the war, br Give each man his desire! br Give him the soft wind and the rain br And the reek of the turf fire.