For to admire an' for to see, For to be'old this world so wide— It never done no good to me, But I can't drop… — Rudyard Kipling

And oft-times cometh our wise Lord God, master of every trade,

And tells them tales of His daily toil, of Edens newly made;

And they rise to their feet as He passes by, gentlemen unafraid.

For it's Tommy this, an' Tommy that, an' “Chuck him out, the brute!”

But it's “Saviour of 'is country” when the guns begin to shoot.

We aren't no thin red 'eroes, nor we aren't no blackguards too,

But single men in barricks, most remarkable like you;

An' if sometimes our conduck isn't all your fancy paints,

Why, single men in barricks don't grow into plaster saints.