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<br/>
<h2> The Mother-Lodge </h2>
<p>There was Rundle, Station Master,<br/>
An' Beazeley of the Rail,<br/>
An' 'Ackman, Commissariat,<br/>
An' Donkin' o' the Jail;<br/>
An' Blake, Conductor-Sargent,<br/>
Our Master twice was 'e,<br/>
With 'im that kept the Europe-shop,<br/>
Old Framjee Eduljee.<br/>
<br/>
Outside—“Sergeant! Sir! Salute! Salaam!”<br/>
Inside—“Brother”, an' it doesn't do no 'arm.<br/>
We met upon the Level an' we parted on the Square,<br/>
An' I was Junior Deacon in my Mother-Lodge out there!<br/>
<br/>
We'd Bola Nath, Accountant,<br/>
An' Saul the Aden Jew,<br/>
An' Din Mohammed, draughtsman<br/>
Of the Survey Office too;<br/>
There was Babu Chuckerbutty,<br/>
An' Amir Singh the Sikh,<br/>
An' Castro from the fittin'-sheds,<br/>
The Roman Catholick!<br/>
<br/>
We 'adn't good regalia,<br/>
An' our Lodge was old an' bare,<br/>
But we knew the Ancient Landmarks,<br/>
An' we kep' 'em to a hair;<br/>
An' lookin' on it backwards<br/>
It often strikes me thus,<br/>
There ain't such things as infidels,<br/>
Excep', per'aps, it's us.<br/>
<br/>
For monthly, after Labour,<br/>
We'd all sit down and smoke<br/>
(We dursn't give no banquits,<br/>
Lest a Brother's caste were broke),<br/>
An' man on man got talkin'<br/>
Religion an' the rest,<br/>
An' every man comparin'<br/>
Of the God 'e knew the best.<br/>
<br/>
So man on man got talkin',<br/>
An' not a Brother stirred<br/>
Till mornin' waked the parrots<br/>
An' that dam' brain-fever-bird;<br/>
We'd say 'twas 'ighly curious,<br/>
An' we'd all ride 'ome to bed,<br/>
With Mo'ammed, God, an' Shiva<br/>
Changin' pickets in our 'ead.<br/>
<br/>
Full oft on Guv'ment service<br/>
This rovin' foot 'ath pressed,<br/>
An' bore fraternal greetin's<br/>
To the Lodges east an' west,<br/>
Accordin' as commanded<br/>
From Kohat to Singapore,<br/>
But I wish that I might see them<br/>
In my Mother-Lodge once more!<br/>
<br/>
I wish that I might see them,<br/>
My Brethren black an' brown,<br/>
With the trichies smellin' pleasant<br/>
An' the hog-darn passin' down;<br/>
An' the old khansamah snorin'<br/>
On the bottle-khana floor,<br/>
Like a Master in good standing<br/>
With my Mother-Lodge once more!<br/>
<br/>
Outside—“Sergeant! Sir! Salute! Salaam!”<br/>
Inside—“Brother”, an' it doesn't do no 'arm.<br/>
We met upon the Level an' we parted on the Square,<br/>
An' I was Junior Deacon in my Mother-Lodge out there!<br/></p>
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