On a battle field in sunny France a hero brave did stand;
He thought of friends he loved so well in dear old Newfoundland:
In fancy too he again did view the dear old river side,
And the home he loved in boyhood days in the valleys of Kilbride.

His comrade who was wounded there lay dying on the field,
Those plucky Newfoundlanders would die before they’d yield;
In the July Drive they proved their worth where shot and shell did fly,
On no-man’s land they rushed across, you could hear their charging cry.

When this dying comrade raised his hand and signaled to draw near,
He said, “Dear Jack these parting words I want for you to hear”,
He said, “Dear Jack these parting words I want for you to tell,
To mother dear, and my brother, likewise my sister Nell.”

“Tell mother not to weep for me, but pray for me each day,
And whisper words of comfort Jack, to her so far away;
And whisper words of comfort Jack, and take her by the hand,
And tell her in the July Drive, how bravely we did stand.”

“There’s a fair-haired girl who waits for me, and thinks that I’ll come home,
But tell her that through Bowering Park we never more will roam;
Her face I never more will see, for now we have to part,
But still her memory lingers on within my bleeding heart.”

His voice grew weak, he scarce could speak, as he grasped his comrade’s hand,
He said, “Please bring these tidings back to dear old Newfoundland;
I know that I am dying with the pain that’s in my side,
My home I never more will see, in the valleys of Kilbride.”