WE LENT to Alexander the strength of Hercules,
The wisdom of out foreheads, the cunning of our knees.
We bowed our necks to service—they ne’er were loosed again,—
Make way there, way for the ten-foot teams
            Of the Forty-Pounder train!

Those heroes in their harnesses avoid a cannon-ball,
And what they know of powder upsets them one and all;
Then we come into action and tug the guns again,—
Make way there, way for the twenty yoke
            Of the Forty-Pounder train!

As me and my companions were scrambling up a hill,
The path was lost in rolling stones, but we went forward still;
For we can wriggle and climb, my lads, and turn up everywhere,
And it’s our delight on a mountain height, with a leg or two to spare!

Good luck to every sergeant, then, that lets us pick our road!
Bad luck to all the driver-men that cannot pack a load!
For we can wriggle and climb, my lads, and turn up everywhere,
And it’s our delight on a mountain height, with a leg or two to spare!