Page:Rudyard Kipling's verse - Inclusive Edition 1885-1918.djvu/131

  We used to pass—we used to pass Or halt, as it might be, And ship our masks in case of gas Beyond Gethsemane.

The Garden called Gethsemane, It held a pretty lass, But all the time she talked to me I prayed my cup might pass. The officer sat on the chair, The men lay on the grass, And all the time we halted there I prayed my cup might pass.

It didn't pass—it didn't pass— It didn't pass from me. I drank it when we met the gas Beyond Gethsemane. 

The Song of the Banjo
 1894 couldn't pack a Broadwood half a mile— You mustn't leave a fiddle in the damp— You couldn't raft an organ up the Nile, And play it in an Equatorial swamp. I travel with the cooking-pots and pails— I'm sandwiched 'tween the coffee and the pork— And when the dusty column checks and tails, You should hear me spur the rearguard to a walk!

With my "Pilly-willy-winky-winky-popp!" [Oh, it's any tune that comes into my head!] So I keep 'em moving forward till they drop; So I play 'em up to water and to bed. 