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,
Beaching, 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 hiss degree;
Children of the yoke and goad,
Pack and harness, pad and load._