September last on the eighteenth day We landed safe at the big Crimay, In spite of all the splashing spray To cheers our hearts for Alma. That night we slept on the cold cold ground, No tent nor shelter to be found; And with the rain was almost drowned We need the heights of Alma. Britain's sons may long remember The glorious twentieth of September We caused the Russians to surrender Upon the heights of Alma. Next morning the scorching sun did rise Beneath those eastern cloudy skies; Our noble chief Lord Raglan cries, "Prepare to march for Alma." Oh, when the heights they hove in view, The stoutest heart it did subdue To see the Russian warlike crew Upon the heights of Alma. Britain's sons may long remember The glorious twentieth of September We caused the Russians to surrender Upon the heights of Alma. Our Scottish lads in kilt and hose Were not the last you may suppose To daring face their daring foes, And gain the heights of Alma. To Sebastapol the Russians fled, They left their wounded and their dead; The rivers there they all ran red From the blood was spilled at Alma. Britain's sons may long remember The glorious twentieth of September We caused the Russians to surrender Upon the heights of Alma.
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