The Sergeant of a Highland Reg— —Iment was drilling of his men; With temper notably on edge He blest them every now and then. A sweet old lady standing by,

Full fifty merry maids I heard One summer morn a—singing; And each was like a joyous bird With spring—clear not a—ringing. It was an old—time soldier song

Behold! I’m old; my hair is white… My eighty years are in the offing, And sitting by the fire to—night I sip a grog to ease my coughing. It’s true I’m raucous as a rook,

Mary and I were twenty—two When we were wed; A well—matched pair, right smart t… The town’s folk said. For twenty years I have been true

The waves have a story to tell me, As I lie on the lonely beach; Chanting aloft in the pine—tops, The wind has a lesson to teach; But the stars sing an anthem of gl…

Of all the men I ever knew The tinkingest was Uncle Jim; If there were any chores to do We couldn’t figure much on him. He’d have a thinking job on hand,

Only a Leather Medal, hanging the… Dingy and frayed and faded, dusty… Yet of my humble treasures I valu… And I wouldn’t part with that med… Read the inscription: For Valour…

(France, August first, 1914) Far and near, high and clear, Hark to the call of War! Over the gorse and the golden dell… Ringing and swinging of clamorous…

My Lady is dancing so lightly, The belle of the Embassy Ball; I lied as I kissed her politely, And hurried away from it all. I’m taxiing up to Montmartre,

Come out, O Little Moccasins, an… Come out, O tiny beaded feet, and… I’ll play the old Red River reel,… Awake, O Little Moccasins, and d… Your hair was all a gleamy gold, y…

I wanted the gold, and I sought i… I scrabbled and mucked like a slav… Was it famine or scurvy—I fought… I hurled my youth into a grave. I wanted the gold, and I got it—

I’ve got a little job on 'and, the… At seven by the Captain’s watch I… I wants to 'ave it nice and neat,… And I 'opes the God of soldier me… Because, you see, it’s somethin’…

From wrath—red dawn to wrath—red d… The guns have brayed without abate… And now the sick sun looks upon The bleared, blood—boltered fields… As if it loathed to rise again.

Sitting in the dentist’s chair, Wishing that I wasn’t there, To forget and pass the time I have made this bit of rhyme. I had a rendez—vous at ten;

He wrote a letter in his mind To answer one a maid had sent; He sought the fitting word to find… As on by hill and rill he went. By bluebell wood and hawthorn lane…