IN HOSPITAL.

IT is thirty moons since I slung me hook

From the job at the hay and corn,

Took me solemn oath,‘ n’ I straight forsook

All the ways of life, dinkum ways‘ n’ crook,

‘ N’ the things on which it was good to look

Since the day when a bloke was born.

I was give a gun,‘ n’ a bay'net bright,

‘ N’ a‘ ell of a swag iv work,

N’ I dipped my lid to the big pub light,

To the ole push cobbers I give “Good-night!”

Slipped a kiss to‘ er,‘ n’ I wings me flight

For a date with the demon Turk.

Ez we pricked our heel to the skitin’ drum.

Square‘ n’ all, I was gone a mile.

With a perky air,‘ n’ a‘ eart ez glum

Ez a long-dead cod, I was blind‘ n’ dumb,

Holdin’ do the tear that was bound to come

At a word or a friendly smile.

Now I've seen it all, I may come out dead,

But I‘ ope never more a fool.

I have scorched,‘ n’ thirsted,‘ n’ froze,‘ n’ bled,

‘ N’ bin taught the use of the human head,

For when all is done‘ n’ when all is said,

War's a wonderful sort of school.

I've bin taught to get‘ em‘ n’ never fret,

‘ N’ to sleep without dreamin’ when

We have swarmed a slope with the red rain wet;

I‘ ave learned a pile,‘ n’ I'm learnin’ yet;

But the thing I've learned that I wo n't forget

Is a way of not judgin’ men.

We was shot down there in a dirty place —

From the mansions‘ n’ huts we'd come —

‘ N’ of all the welter the‘ ardest case

Was a little swine with a dimpled face,

Who a year ago was dispensin’ lace

In a Carlton em-por-ee-um.

In the moochin’ days of me giddy youth,

When I kidded meself a treat,

I'd have pass him one ez a gooey.‘ Strewth

On the track iv Huns, he's a eight-day sleuth,

‘ N’ at tearin’ into‘ em nail‘ n’ tooth

He's got Julius Caesar beat!

I ai n't proud with him;‘ n’ I'm modest, too,

When dividin’ a can of swill

With a Algy boy from the wilds iv Kew.

Cos I do not know what the cow will do

When a Fritzy offers to sock me through;

‘ N’ it's good to be livin’ still.

There you are, you see! Oh! it makes you sore,

When a bloke you despised at‘ ome

In them pifflin’ days of the years before

Takes a odds-on chance with the God of War,

‘ N’ he tows you out with his left lung tore,

‘ N’ a crack in his bleedin’ dome!

‘ Twas a lad called Hugh done ez much for me.

( He has curls‘ n’ he's fair‘ n’ slim ).

Well, I mind the days in the Port when we

Puts it over Hugh coz we do n't agree

With his tone‘ n’ style,‘ n’ my foot was free

When the push made a hack of him.

Now he's paid me back. I had struck a snag,

And must creep through the battle spume

All a flamin’ age, with a grinnin’ jag

In me thigh, for water, or jest a fag.

Like a crippled snake I was forced to drag

Shattered flesh till the crack of doom.

When they saw me he was the one who came.

‘ N’ he give me a raffish grin

‘ N’ a swig. I was n't so bad that shame

Did n't get me then, for the lad was lame.

They had passed him his, but his‘ art was game.

‘ N’ he coughed ez he brought me in.

I have tackled God on me bended knees,

So He'll save him alive‘ n’ whole,

For the sake of one who he thinks he sees

When the Nurse's hands bring a kind of ease;

And I thank God, too, for the things like these

That have give me a sort of soul.

There are Percies, Algies,‘ n’ Claudes I've met

Who could take it‘ n’ come agen,

While the bullets flew in a screamin’ jet.

What in pain,‘ n’ death, and in mire‘ n’ sweat

I‘ ave learned from them that I wo n't forget

Is a way of not judgin’ men.