The Mother Lodge

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

Rudyard Kipling