1 There was Rundle, Station Master, An' Beazeley of the Rail, An' 'Ackman, Commissariat, An' Donkin' o' the Jail; An' Blake, Conductor-Sergeant, Our Master twice was 'e, With im that kept the Europe-shop, Old Framjee Eduljee. Outside - " Sergeant! Sir! Salute! Salaam! Inside - 'Brother," an' it doesn't do no 'arm. We met upon the Level an' we parted on the Square, An' I was junior Deacon in my Mother-Lodge out there! 2 We'd Bola Nath, Accountant, An' Saul the Aden Jew, An' Din Mohammed, draughtsman Of the Survey Office too; There was Babu Chuckerbutty, An' Amir Singh the Sikh, An' Castro from the fittin'-sheds, The Roman Catholick! 3 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. 4 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. 5 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. 6 Full oft on Guv'ment service This rovin' foot 'ath pressed, An' bore fraternal greetin's To the Lodges east an' west, Accordin' as commanded. From Kohat to Singapore, But I wish that I might see them In my Mother-Lodge once more! 7 I wish that I might see them, My Brethren black an' brown, With the trichies smellin' pleasant An' the hog-darn passin' down; An' the old khansamah snorin' On the bottle-khana floor, Like a Master in good standing With my Mother-Lodge once more. Outside - Sergeant! Sir! Salute! Salaam!' Inside- Brother," an' it doesn't do no 'arm. We met upon the Level an' we parted on the Square, An' I was Junior Deacon in my Mother-Lodge out there!
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