Ubique means 'They've caught De Wet, an' now we shan't be long.' Ubique means 'I much regret, the beggar's goin' strong!' Ubique means the tearin' drift where, breech-blocks jammed with mud, The khaki muzzles duck an' lift across the khaki flood. Ubique means the dancing plain that changes rocks to Boers. Ubique means mirage again an' shellin' all out-doors. Ubique means 'Entrain at once for Grootdefeatfontein'! Ubique means 'Off-load your guns'-at midnight in the rain! Ubique means 'More mounted men. Return all guns to store.' Ubique means the R. A. M. R. Infantillery Corps! Ubique means that warnin' grunt the perished linesman knows, When o'er 'is strung an' sufferin' front the shrapnel sprays 'is foes; An' as their firin' dies away the 'usky whisper runs From lips that 'aven't drunk all day: 'The Guns, Thank Gawd, the Guns!' Extreme, depressed, point-blank or short, end-first or any 'ow, From Colesberg Kop to Quagga's Poort-from NinetyNine till now By what I've 'eard the others tell an' I in spots 'ave seen, There's nothin' this side 'Eaven or 'Ell Ubique doesn't mean! P THE RETURN (All Arms) EACE is declared, an' I return To 'Ackneystadt, but not the same; Things 'ave transpired which made me learn I did no more than others did, I don't know where the change began; I started as a average kid, I finished as a thinkin' man. If England was what England seems, But only putty, brass, an' paint, 'Ow quick we'd drop 'er! But she ain't! Before my gappin' mouth could speak Rivers at night that cluck an' jeer, An' the quick-breathin' dark that fills When the wind worries through the 'ills- Towns without people, ten times took, Men, met by night, you never knew Once-an' struck off. They taught me too. The day's lay-out-the mornin' sun An' legs tied down before they're cold- Also Time runnin' into years A thousand Places left be'indAn' Men from both two 'emispheres Discussin' things of every kind; THE RETURN So much more near than I 'ad known, But reachin' out to all the rest! So 'ath it come to me-not pride, The makin's of a bloomin' soul. If England was what England seems, 'Ow quick we'd chuck 'er! But she ain't! G RECESSIONAL (1897) OD of our fathers, known of old, Lord of our far-flung battle-line, Beneath whose awful Hand we hold Dominion over palm and pineLord God of Hosts, be with us yet, Lest we forget-lest we forget! The tumult and the shouting dies; An humble and a contrite heart. Far-called, our navies melt away; On dune and headland sinks the fire: Lo, all our pomp of yesterday Is one with Nineveh and Tyre! Judge of the Nations, spare us yet, Lest we forget-lest we forget! If, drunk with sight of power, we loose Wild tongues that have not Thee in awe, Such boastings as the Gentiles use, |