The Mother-Lodge
There was Rundle, Station Master,An' Beazeley of the Rail,An' 'Ackman, Commissariat,An' Donkin o' the Jail;An' Blake, Conductor-Sargent,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!
We'd Bola Nath, Accountant,An' Saul the Aden Jew,An' Din Mohammed, draughtsmanOf the Survey Office too;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 backwardsIt 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 banquits,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 stirredTill mornin' waked the parrotsAn' that dam' brain-fever-bird;We'd say 'twas 'ighly curious,An' we'd all ride 'ome to bed,With Mo'ammed, God, an' ShivaChangin' pickets in our 'ead.
Full oft on Guv'ment serviceThis rovin' foot 'ath pressed,An' bore fraternal greetin'sTo the Lodges east an' west,Accordin' as commandedFrom Kohat to Singapore,But I wish that I might see themIn my Mother Lodge once more!
I wish that I might see them,My Brethren black an' brown,With the trichies smellin' pleasantAn' the hog-darn passin' down;An' the old khansamah snorin'On the bottle-khana floor,Like a Master in good standingWith 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!
FOOTNOTES:
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