Anonymous.
THE "N.C.O."
There's some one in the Army that I'd like to write about,
For it's seldom that he gets his share of praise;
He's as gallant as most lions and you can always hear him shout,
Through the rattle of the battle now-a-days.
When we read in all the papers of the Comp'ny officers killed,
We don't stop to think who has to take their place;
But if we knew, our hearts with admiration would be filled
For the N.C.O. with grim and grimy face.
His language on the barrack square, ain't quite what it should be,
And it's probable he likes his whack of beer,
But there's nothing like that voice of his, and never yet will be
To steady the young soldier when he's feeling "Bullet-queer."
He's ahead in all the rushes, he's the last one to retire,
And in battle's got a joke for every one;
He doesn't seem to mind a damn, when under Mauser fire,
And he don't forget the wounded when the day is fought and won.
Then, Mr. Rudyard Kipling, here's more work for you to do,
You've sung of gallant "Tommies" and their deeds,
Just write about their N.C.O.'s and give them all their due,
For good N.C.O.'s are what the Army needs.
C.