Beneath an ancient pipal tree,
fast by the Jhelum'side,
In silent thought sat Hurnam Singh,
A Khalsa soldier of the King :
 He mused on things now done and past,
For he had reached his home at last,
His empty sleeve his pride!.

Five years before a village lout,
beneath the self self-same tree,
He met the Havildar, who'd come  
With honeyed words and beat of drum,  
Cajoling all who glory sought,
And telling how the regiment fought
The Zakha and the Mohmand clans
With shouts of victory !

Wah Guru Ji ! rang in his ears,
the famous battle cry,
And since those days Hurnam had seen,
On Flanders plains, from fierce Messines,
To Festubert and Neuve Chapelle,
'Mid festering bogs and scenes of hell,
How Khalsa soldiers die!.