There's a land where hearts are aching and eyes are wet with tears
It's the land where hearts start breaking when the smoke of battle clears
There's a voice that seems to haunt me when the shades of night appear
'Tis the mournful voice of Belgium ringing in my ear
I hear the voice of Belgium calling far across the sea
I speak of wives and mothers waiting patiently
I hear the cries of children praying, sad as they could be
I can hear them say, "Please, send my Daddy back to me"
Hear a voice that rings with sorrow, it mournfully imparts
That the news of each tomorrow means a thousand broken hearts
See a hand stretch'd out for mercy with a plea to every man
'Tis the call for help from Belgium - answer, if you can