noon
Yes , there it is again ; you can not forget why you are here . Day and night , sunshine and storm , scarce five minutes elapse in the twenty-four hours without reminding you of the work in hand . You ride out from the camp for your afternoon exercise , you go down to Balaklava to buy provisions , or you canter over to the monastery at St. George 's to visit a sick comrade -- the iron voice tolls on . In the glare of noon , when everything else seems drowsy in the heat , and the men lie down exhausted in the suffocating trenches -- the iron voice tolls on . In the calm of evening , when the breeze is hushed and still , and the violet sea is sleeping in the twilight -- the iron voice tolls on . So when the flowers are opening in the morning , and the birds begin to sing , and reviving nature , fresh and dewy , seems to scatter health and peace and good-will over the earth -- the iron voice tolls on . Nay , when you wake at midnight in your tent from a dream of your far-away home -- oh !