THE MOTHER LODGE
There was a Rundle, station master,
An' Beazeley of the rail;
An' Achman, commissariat,
in o' the jail;
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An' Blake, cunductor sergeant-
Our Master twice was 'e,
With 'im that kept the Europe shop,
Old Framjee Eduljee.
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Outside-"Sergeant! Sir! Salute! Slam!"
Inside-"Brother" an' it doesn't do no 'arm,
We meet upon the level an' we parted on the square,
An' I was Junior Deacon in my Mother Lodge out there.
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There was Bola Nath, accountant,
And Saul, the Aden Jew,
An, Din Mohammed, draughtsman,
Of the Sursey office, too.
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There was Babu Chicekerhitty,
An' Amir Singh, the Sikh,
An' Castro of the fittin' sheds,
A Roman Catholic.
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We 'ad n't good regalia,
An' our Lodge was old an' bare;
But we knew the ancient landmarks,
An' we kept 'em to a hair.
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An' looking on it backwards,
It often strikes me thus,
There ain't such things as 'eathen now,
Except, per'aps, it's us.
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For monthly after labor
We'd all sit down an' smoke
(We durs'nt give no banquets
Least a brother's caste were broke),
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An' man on man got bukkin'
Religion an' the rest,
An' every man comparin'
Of the God 'e knowed the best.
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So man on man got started,
An' not a beggar stirred
Till mornin' waked the parrots,
An' that dam' brain-fever bird.
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We'd say't was very curious,
An' we'd all go 'ome to bed
With Mohammed, God, an' Shira,
Changin' pickets in our 'ead.
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Full out of Gov'ment service
This wanderin' foot 'ath pressed
An' bore fraternal greetin's
To the Lodges East and West
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Accordin' as commanded,
From Ko'at to Singapore,
But I wish that I might see them
In my Mother Lodge once more.
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I wish that I might see them,
My Brethren white and brown,
With the burlies smellin' pleasant
An' the ag-dan passin' down,
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An' the old Khansannah snorin'
On the bottle-Khana floor,
Like a Brother in good standing
With my Mother Lodge once more.
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Outside-"Sergeant! Sir! Salute! Slam!"
Inside-"Brother" an' it doesn't do no 'arm,
We meet upon the level an' we parted on the square,
An' I was Junior Deacon in my Mother Lodge out there.
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by Brother Rudyard Kipling
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