The Lord is my Captain. In boot camp
I shall want any more Indian Runs or Log Carries.
He makes me lie prone in green pastures
for escape-and-evade drills:
He leads me into the still, polar waters
He restores my morale and reloads my mag.
He guides me on the path to our objective
for the mission’s sake.
And though I march into the vale of shadows and certain death
I will fear no ambush, for you are with me Captain.
Your nod and your stare, they comfort me, amid my pleas –
Medic! Mamma! Abba!
You prepare a way for my evac in the presence of enemy artillery.
Now I anoint your headstone with flowers; my heart overflows.
Surely memories and battlescars will haunt me
all the days of my life: and I will soldier on
Captainless for now.