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but we
mean to put it through.?Knights Templars from Balmain, the Port,
Monaro, Nhill, andl Ealin'.
We 'are wipin' up Jerus'lem; we were ready
with a hose?Spoutin' lead, a dandy cleaner that you bet
you can rely on;?And Moss Isaacs, Cohn, and Cohen, Moses,
Offelbloom 'n' those?Can all pack their bettin' bags, and come?right home again to Zion.
PEACE, BLESSED PEACE.
HERE in the flamin' thick of thick of things,
With Death across the way, 'n' traps?What little Fritz the German flings
Explodin' in yer lunch pe'aps,?It ain't all glory for a bloke',
It ain't all corfee 'ot and stoo,?Nor wavin' banners in the smoke,?Or practisin' the bay'net stroke--
We has our little troubles, too!
Here's Trigger Ribb bin seein' red
'N' raisin' Cain because he had,?Back in the caverns iv his 'ead,
A 'oller tooth run ravin' mad.?Pore Trigger up 'n' down the trench
Was jiggin' like a blithered loan,?'N' every time she give a wrench?You orter seen the beggar blench,
You orter 'eard him play a toon.
The sullen shells was pawin' blind,
A-feelin' for us grim as sin,?While now 'n' then we'd likely find
A dizzy bomb come limpin' in.?But Trigger simply let 'er sizz.
He 'ardly begged to be excused.?This was no damn concern of his.?He twined a muffler round his phiz,
'N' fearful was the words he used.
Lest we be getting' cock-a-whoop
Ole 'Ans tries out his box of tricks.?His bullets all around the coop?Is peckin' like a million chicks.?But Trigger when they barks his snout
Don't sniff at it. He won't confess?They're on the earth--ignores the clout,?'N' makes the same old sung about
His brimmin' mug of bitterness.
They raided us there in the mud
One day afore the dead sun rose.?Me oath, the mess of stuff and blood
Would give a slaughterman the joes!?And when the scrap is past and done,
Where's Trigger Ribb? The noble youth?Has got his bay'net in a Hun,?While down his cheeks the salt tears run.
Sez he to me "Gorbli'--this tooth!"
A shell hoist Trigger in a tree.
We found him motherin' his jor.?"If this ache's goin' on," sez he,
"So 'elp me, it'll spoil the war!"?Five collared Trigger on his perch,
They wired his molar to a bough,?Then give the anguished one a lurch,?'N' down he pitches. From that birch
His riddled tooth is hangin' now.
This afternoon it's merry 'ell;
Grenades is comin' by the peck;?A big gun times us true 'n well,
And, oh! we gets it in the neck.?They lick out flames hat reach a mile,
The drip of lead will never cease.?But Trigger's pottin' all the while;?He sports a fond 'n' foolish smile-
"Thank Gord," he sez, "a bit of peace!"
THE HAPPY GARDENERS.
WE were storemen, clerks and packers on
an ammunition dump?Twice the size of Cootamundra, and the goods
we had to hump?They were bombs as big as water-butts, and
cartridges in tons,?Shells that looked like blessed gasmains, and
a line in traction-guns.
We had struck a warehouse dignity in dealing
with the stocks.?It was, "Sign here, Mr. Eddie!" "Clarkson,
forward to the socks!"?Our floor-walker was a major, with a nozzle
like a peach,?And a stutter in his Trilbies; and a limping
kind of speech.
We were off at eight to business, we were free
for lunch at one,?And we talked of new Spring fashions, and the
brisk trade being done.?After five we sought our dugouts lying snug
beneath the hill,?Each with hollyhocks before it and geraniums
on the sill.
Singing "Home, Sweet home," we swept,
and scrubbed, and dusted up the place,?Then smoked out on the doorstep in the twilight'
s tender grace.?After which with spade and rake we sought
our special garden plot,?And we 'tended to the cabbage and the shrinking
young shallot.
So long lived we unmolested that this seemed
indeed "the life."?Set apart from mirk and worry and the incidence
of strife;?And we trimmed our Kitchen Eden, swapping
vegetable lore,?Whi1e the whole demented world beside was
muddled up with war.
There was little talk of Boches and of bloody
battle scenes,?But a deal about Bill's spuds and Billy
Carkeek's butter-beans;?Porky specialised on onion and he had a sort
of gift?For a cabbage plump and tender that it took
two men to lift.
In the pleasant Sabbath morning, when the
sun lit on our "street,"?And illumed the happy dugout with effulgence
kind and sweet,?It was fine to see us forking, raking, picking
off the bugs,?Treading flat the snails and woodlice and
demolishing the slugs.
Then one day old Fritz got going. He had
a hint of us,?And the shell the blighter posted was as roomy
as a 'bus;?He was groping round the dump, and kind of
pecking after it;?When he plugged the hill the world heeled up,
the dome of heaven split.
Then, 0 Gott and consternation! Swooped a
shell a and stuck her nose?In Carkeek's beans. Those beans came up!
A cry of grief arose!?As we watched them--plunk! another shell
cut loose, and everywhere?Flew the spuds of Billy Murphy. There were
turnips in the air.
Bill! she tore a quarter-acre from the landscape.
With it burst?Tommy's carrots, and we watched them, and
in whispers prayed and cursed.?Then a wail of anguish 'scaped us. Boomed
in Porky's cabbage plot?A detestable concussion. Porky's cabbages
were not!
There the Breaking strain was reached, for
Porky fetched an awful cry,?And he rushed away and