The Old Top Sergeant
Poem By Berton Braley
TWENTY years of the army, of drawing a sergeant's pay
And helping the West Point shavetails, fresh from the training school
To handle a bunch of soldiers and drill 'em the proper way
(Which isn't always exactly according to book and rule).
I've seen 'em rise to Captains and Majors and Colonels, too,
And me still only a sergeant, the same as I used to be,
And I knew that some of them didn't know as much as a sergeant knew,
But I stuck to my daily duty- there wasn't a growl from me
Twenty years of the army,
Serving in peace and war,
Standing the drill of the army mill,
For that's what they paid me for
Twenty years with the army, which wasn't so much for size,
But man for man I'd back it to lick any troops on earth.
'Twas a proud little classy army, as good as the flag it flies,
And it takes an old top sergeant to know what the flag is worth.
Then- a shot at Sarejevo, and hell burst over there
And the kaiser dragged us in it, and the bill for the draf was passed
And - they handed me my commission, and some shoulder straps to wear,
And the crazy dream of my rooky days had changed to a fact at last.
Twenty years with the army,
And it's great to know they call
On the guys like me for what will be
The mightiest job of all.
Twenty years of the army, of doing what shavetails bid,
And I know I haven't the polish that fellows like that will show,
And I hold a high opinion of the brains of a West Point kid,
But I think I can make him hustle when it comes to the work I know.
But who cares where we come from, Plattsburg, ranks, or the Guard,
This isn't a pink tea-party, but a War to be fought and won;
There's a serious job before us, a job that is huge and hard,
And the social register don't count until we've got it done!
Twenty years in the army,
And now I've got my chance.
Have I earned my straps? Well, you watch the chaps
That I've trained for the game in France!