Saint Martin, he lived long ago

1.
Saint Martin, Saint Martin, He lived long ago,
In days of the glorious empire of Rome.
His heart was forgiving, his courage was strong,
As Martin the soldier rode bravely along.
My duty, said Martin, lies here with my sword,
To honour my country, my kingdom and Lord.
To honour my country, my kingdom and Lord.
2.
The ways of a soldier bring valour and fame,
And battle brings glory and vict'ry the same.
So ride on, Saint Martin a long way from home,
And ride on, Saint Martin, a soldier from Rome.
My duty, said Martin, lies here with my sword,
To honour my country, my kingdom and Lord.
To honour my country, my kingdom and Lord.
3.
As soldier by soldier they passed him on by,
The beggar looked up with a sorrowful eye,
When Martin, Saint Martin, then looked to the ground,
And there in the shadows the beggar he found.
"For shame now", said Martin, "there's nothing I own,
To offer this poor man, all frozen with cold,
To offer this poor man, all frozen with cold."
4.
Then Martin, Saint Martin, he hung his head low,
For riches of money, he'd nothing to show,
No food nor refreshment, to give this old man,
Who knelt down before him and held out his hand.
"This beggar", said Martin, "lies frozen and bare,
This cloak from my back is my one gift to share,
This cloak from my back is my one gift to share."

Zie ook: 'Daar rijdt door de avond'

T+M: N. Fulstow
Arr. B. Gradenwitz