Mister Rudyard Kipling's famous poem, entitled "Boots". Those of us who have never been engaged in actual warfare, have very little idea of some of its worst horrors. One of the most terrible being the agonized impression made on the minds of infantry soldiers during the long forced marches. Soldiers have been known to go absolutely insane with the everlasting sight of marching feet all around.

We're foot—slog—slog—slog—sloggin' over Africa

Foot—foot—foot—foot—sloggin' over Africa --

(Boots—boots—boots—boots—movin' up and down again!)

There's no discharge in the war!

Seven—six—eleven—five—nine-an'-twenty mile to-day

Four—eleven—seventeen—thirty-two the day before --

(Boots—boots—boots—boots—movin' up and down again!)

There's no discharge in the war!

Don't—don't—don't—don't—look at what's in front of you.

(Boots—boots—boots—boots—movin' up an' down again);

Men—men—men—men—men go mad with watchin' em,

An' there's no discharge in the war!

Try—try—try—try—to think o' something different

Oh—my—God—keep—me from goin' lunatic!

(Boots—boots—boots—boots—movin' up an' down again!)

There's no discharge in the war!

Count—count—count—count—the bullets in the bandoliers.

If—your—eyes—drop—they will get atop o' you!

(Boots—boots—boots—boots—movin' up and down again) --

There's no discharge in the war!

We—can—stick—out—'unger, thirst, an' weariness,

But—not—not—not—not the chronic sight of 'em,

Boot—boots—boots—boots—movin' up an' down again,

An' there's no discharge in the war!

'Taint—so—bad—by—day because o' company,

But night—brings—long—strings—o' forty thousand million

Boots—boots—boots—boots—movin' up an' down again.

There's no discharge in the war!

I—'ave—marched—six—weeks in 'Ell an' certify

It—is—not—fire—devils, dark, or anything,

But boots—boots—boots—boots—movin' up an' down again,

An' there's no discharge in the war!