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Any sort o’ chap can whistle when his work is mostly fun;
A hundred want the pleasant jobs to every sturdy one
That’ll grab the dreary duty an’ the mean an’ lowly task,
Or the drab an’ cheerless service that life often has to ask;
But somebody has to do it, an’ the test of me an’ you
Is the way we face the labor that we do not like to do.
Now, it isn’t very pleasant standin’ guard out in the rain,
But it’s in the line of duty, an’ no soldier will complain,
An’ there isn’t any soldier but what sometimes hates his work
When the dress parade is over, an’ perhaps he’d like to shirk,
But he’s there to follow orders, not to pick an’ choose his post,
An’ he sometimes shines the finest at the job he hates the most.
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