Children of the Camp are we, Serving each in his degree; Children of the yoke and goad, Pack and harness, pad and load. See our line across the plain, Like a heel-rope bent again, Reaching, writhing, rolling far, Sweeping all away to war!
While the men that walk beside, Dusty, silent, heavy-eyed,Cannot tell why we or they March and suffer day by day.
Children of the Camp are we, Serving each in his degree; Children of the yoke and goad, Pack and harness, pad and load!