the nutkern

just a band of prowling mates
who respect no more a country's birth
than those of the english race
they spoil and burn and bear away
and think the greater ill they do
the greater pay deserved
they pause not for a poor man's cry
or yet respect his tears
or rather joy to see the flame
that flash about is ears
to see both flame and smouldering smoke
to dusk the crystal skies
after their prayers they're in i say
their second glory lies

though still need to know the author