Let us remember, comrades, when to our posts we go, The ties that must be cut in twain, as o’er life’s sea we row, Hearts that now throb in unison must moulder down below, So let us take a parting cup at Benny Havens, Oh! Oh! Benny Havens, Oh! etc. To our kind old Alma Mater, our rock-bound Highland home, We’ll cast back many a fond regret, as o’er life’s sea we roam, Until our last battle-field the lights of heaven shall glow, We’ll never fail to drink to her and Benny Havens, Oh! Oh! Benny Havens, Oh! etc. May the army be augmented, promotion be less slow, May our Country, in her hour of need, be ready for the foe, May we find a soldier’s resting-place beneath a soldier’s blow, With space enough beside our graves for Benny Havens, Oh! Oh! Benny Havens, Oh! etc. Come, fill up to our Generals, God bless the brave heroes, They’re an honor to their country, and a terror to her foes; May they long rest on their laurels and trouble never know, But live to see a thousand years, at Benny Havens, Oh! Oh! Benny Havens, Oh! etc. When you and I and Benny, and all the others, too, Are called before the final board our course of life to view, May we never “fess” on any point, but coldly “max” it through, And join the Army of the blest, at Benny Havens, Oh! Oh! Benny Havens, Oh! etc. NOTE.—The following verses are from the 1909 Howitzer: Then here’s to you, old glory team, that downs the strongest foes. Your Benny Haven’s strongest sons, in you our hopes repose, On the mountains by old Hudson’s shore, your deeds have been our theme; But, victors or defeated men, you’re still the army team. The brave old army team, the loyal army team, The army’s hearts, the army’s hopes, are with the army team. When you meet the rovers of the sea, and struggle hand to hand, Remember, in that hour supreme we all behind you stand— Let black recall our past defeats, the present struggle gray, But victory is brightest gold, that you shall win that day. The black, and gray, and gold, the black, and gold, and gray, Yea! Victory shall be the prize, the black, and gold, and gray. On the world’s rough-trampled gridiron, the battle-field of life, Your spirit brave, old rock-bound home, shall nerve us in the strife. Before us gleams the future, with manly parts to play, While from the dim past stretches the unbroken line of gray. Oh! the dear old gray battalion, the loyal line of gray, Friend close to friend, firm to the end, shall stand the line of gray. [Illustration] CHAPTER V. THE PLEBE IN BARRACKS.