CCXXIV
A FAMILY MATTER
Come, my hearties—work will stand—
Here’s your Mother calling!—
Wants us all to lend a hand,
And go out Uncle-Pauling.
Catch your nags, and saddle slick,
Quick to join the banners!
Folks that treat the fam’ly thick
Must be taught their manners.
Who would potter round a farm
Fearful of clubbed gunstroke,
And, keeping cosy out of harm,
Die of loafer’s sunstroke?
Gusts of distant battle-noise
Tell that men are falling;
Get your guns, my bonny boys,
Here’s your Mother calling!
Buckle on your cartridge belts,
Waste no time about it!
Force is massing on the veldts,
We must off and rout it.
What if fate should work its worst!
Men can grin in falling;
Come on, chaps, and be the first,—
Here’s your Mother calling!
Arthur Maquarie.
|
|
