So6 RUDYARD KIPLING'S VERSE
There was Babu Chuckerbutty, An' Amir Singh the Sikh,
An' Castro from the fittin'-sheds, The Roman Catholick!
We 'adn't good regalia,
An' our Lodge was old an' bare, But we knew the Ancient Landmarks,
An' we kep' 'em to a hair; An' lookin' on it backwards
It often strikes me thus, There ain't such things as infidels,
Excep', per'aps, it's us.
For monthly, after Labour,
We'd all sit down and smoke (We dursn't give no banquets,
Lest a Brother's caste were broke), An' man on man got talkin*
Religion an' the rest, An' every man comparin*
Of the God 'e knew the best.
So man on man got talkin',
An' not a Brother stirred Till mornin' waked the parrots
An' that dam' brain-fever-bird; We'd say 'twas 'ighly curious,
An' we'd all ride 'ome to bed, With Mo'ammed, God, an* Shiva
Changin' pickets in our 'ead.
Full oft on Guv'ment service This rovin' foot 'ath pressed,
An' bore fraternal greetin's
To the Lodges east an' west,