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    Mercenaries
    by Breton Braley

    They come from all over the planet,
        An Army that's never at rest,
    Wherever a job is, they man it,
        In East, North or South or the West.
    The Wops and the Slaves and the Limeys
        The Hunkies and Micks and the Yanks,
    Where dust, sweat and labor and grime is
        They battle in militant ranks.

    They war with the desert and river,
        They fight with the quag and the rock,
    Their blows make a continent shiver,
        And mountains are split by the shock;
    The lift the steel over the ridges
        They damn up the floods coming down,
    They fling forth the trestles and bridges,
        They burrow 'neath torrent and town.

    Big-chested, big-hearted, big-handed,
        They march to the furthest frontiers
    And there they perform as commanded
        Without any salvoes of cheeers.
    A hard-thewed and rough aggregation
        A mixed and a polyglot mob
    Who battle for civilization
        --This Army of Men on the Job!

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