The Seven Ages of the Volunteer.

At first the raw Recruit, unused to arms And awkward at his drill, thinking the "manual" The very deuce. Then the bold "Lance," Quick to salute, and glad to have escaped His turn as orderly. And then The Sergeant, full of wrath because His section, squad, or what you will, Misunderstand him, and do fail To grasp the thing he drives at. Then he's a "Sub," and cannot for the world Imagine how on earth they ever did without him, Don't you know. And after that he's Captain, and at first Wakes up his company, but as the years go on He slackens, and betimes he wonders If it is not time to chuck it, as it were. A Major then, and now bestrides a "gee," Thanking his lucky stars the "double" does No longer make him gasp. Lastly, the Colonel, sporting the bold V.D., Wishing to goodness he had not to put His hand to pocket to such great extent; but dreading, all the same, The time when he must, in the course of things, Retire.