The following story took place among an exhausted group of Marines during World War II in what had once been a large rice paddy on the northern end of Okinawa.
The sun was shining brightly the next day when I was awakened by the sound of someone singing. I looked out over the 2,000 men who lay sleeping, steam rising from their wet bodies, and saw a dirty, tired Marine with blond whiskers singing:
Come, come, ye Saints, no toil nor labor fear;