The member of the R.I.C. who used the nom de plume Cimon when writing poems for the R.I.C. magazine, of which this was his last, i have been unable to identity for certain.
You will note even though the R.I.C. wore a dark (rifle) green uniform, they still classed themselves as the, "Boy's in Blue".
Has it ever occured to you.
In the fame and shame of the party game -
No matter what glass you are looking through,
However the world may applaud or blame,
How hard is the part of the "Man in Blue"
Why doesn't he count when the curtains rise?
Why was he forgotten when they fell?
Is it because he failed to please?
Or is it because that he played too well?
Take a moment's thought from your worldly care,
And scatter them round him standing there,
Try and fathom his federal mind,
No shallow groove holds his thoughts confined,
Stalwart and strong in his passionless power,
Silent and safe in the trying hour,
When the lawless elements sweep at their worst,
And the human storm is ready to burst,
Aye! ask yourself if he lost his grip
What of the rights of citenzenship?
Dispenser of justice , receiver of kicks,
And more than his share of party bricks.
Few , few to grant him his meed of fame -
But many to look for his blush of shame
And always! always! some one to blame.
Holding the reins of progress true,
Guiding and guarding his ship of State,
The man at the wheel is the man in Blue,
The man who is winning an honured name,
The man who is charged with the nation's fate,
The man who is only a pawn in the game,
Let your glass be clear and I ask of you
To look abroad with a wider view.
A deeper search in the heart of things,
And warm and true the knowledge brings
A kindlier thought for the " Man in Blue"