If you meet King George’s men, dressed in blue and red,
20
You be careful what you say, and mindful what is said.
If they call you ‘pretty maid,’ and chuck you ’neath the chin,
Don’t tell where no one is, nor yet where no one’s been!
Knocks and footsteps round the house – whistles after dark –
You’ve no call for running out till the house-dogs bark.
25
Trusty’s here, and Pincher’s here, and see how dumb they lie –
They don’t fret to follow when the Gentlemen go by!
If you do as you’ve been told, ’likely there’s a chance,
You’ll be give a dainty doll, all the way from France,
With a cap of Valenciennes, and a velvet hood –
30
A present from the Gentlemen, along o’ being good!
Five-and-twenty ponies
Trotting through the dark –
Brandy for the Parson,
’Baccy for the Clerk.
35
Them that asks no questions isn’t told a lie –
Watch the wall, my darling, while the Gentlemen go by!
The Sons of Martha
The Sons of Mary seldom bother, for they have inherited that good part;
But the Sons of Martha favour their Mother of the careful soul and the troubled heart.
And because she lost her temper once, and because she was rude to the Lord her Guest,
Her Sons must wait upon Mary’s Sons, world without end, reprieve, or rest.
5
It is their care in all the ages to take the buffet and cushion the shock.
It is their care that the gear engages; it is their care that the switches lock.
It is their care that the wheels run truly; it is their care to embark and entrain,
Tally, transport, and deliver duly the Sons of Mary by land and main.
They say to mountains, ‘Be ye removèd.’ They say to the lesser floods, ‘Be dry.’
10
Under their rods are the rocks reprovèd – they are not afraid of that which is high.
Then do the hill-tops shake to the summit – then is the bed of the deep laid bare,
That the Sons of Mary may overcome it, pleasantly sleeping and unaware.
They finger Death at their gloves’ end where they piece and repiece the living wires.
He rears against the gates they tend: they feed him hungry behind their fires.
15
Early at dawn, ere men see clear, they stumble into his terrible stall,
And hale him forth like a haltered steer, and goad and turn him till evenfall.
To these from birth is Belief forbidden; from these till death is Relief afar.
They are concerned with matters hidden – under the earth-line their altars are –
The secret fountains to follow up, waters withdrawn to restore to the mouth,
20
And gather the floods as in a cup, and pour them again at a city’s drouth.
They do not preach that their God will rouse them a little before the nuts work loose.
They do not teach that His Pity allows them to drop their job when they dam’-well choose.
As in the thronged and the lighted ways, so in the dark and the desert they stand,
Wary and watchful all their days that their brethren’s days may be long in the land.
25
Raise ye the stone or cleave the wood to make a path more fair or flat –
Lo, it is black already with blood some Son of Martha spilled for that!
Not as a ladder from earth to Heaven, not as a witness to any creed,
But simple service simply given to his own kind in their common need.
And the Sons of Mary smile and are blessed – they know the Angels are on their side.
30
They know in them is the Grace confessed, and for them are the Mercies multiplied.
They sit at the Feet – they hear the Word – they see how truly the Promise runs.
They have cast their burden upon the Lord, and – the Lord He lays it on Martha’s Sons!
A Song of Travel
Where’s the lamp that Hero lit
Once to call Leander home?
Equal Time hath shovelled it
’Neath the wrack of Greece and Rome.
5
Neither wait we any more
That worn sail which Argo bore.
Dust and dust of ashes close
All the Vestal Virgins’ care;
And the oldest altar shows
10
But an older darkness there.
Age-encamped Oblivion
Tenteth every light that shone.
Yet shall we, for Suns that die,
Wall our wanderings from desire?
15
Or, because the Moon is high,
Scorn to use a nearer fire?
Lest some envious Pharaoh stir,
Make our lives our sepulchre?
Nay! Though Time with petty Fate
20
Prison us and Emperors,
By our Arts do we create
That which Time himself devours –
Such machines as well may run
’Gainst the Horses of the Sun.
25
When we would a new abode,
Space, our tyrant King no more,
Lays the long lance of the road
At our feet and flees before,
Breathless, ere we overwhelm,
30
To submit a further realm!
‘The Power of the Dog’
There is sorrow enough in the natural way
From men and women to fill our day;
And when we are certain of sorrow in store,
Why do we always arrange for more?
5
Brothers and Sisters, I bid you beware
Of giving your heart to a dog to tear.
Buy a pup and your money will buy
Love unflinching that cannot lie –
Perfect passion and worship fed
10
By a kick in the ribs or a pat on the head.
Nevertheless it is hardly fair
To risk your heart for a dog to tear.
When the fourteen years which Nature permits
Are closing in asthma, or tumour, or fits,
15
And the vet’s unspoken prescription runs
To lethal chambers or loaded guns,
Then you will find – it’s your own affair –
But … you’ve given your heart to a dog to tear.
When the body that lived at your single will,
20
With its whimper of welcome, is stilled (how still!)
When the spirit that answered your every mood
Is gone – wherever it goes – for good,
You will discover how much you care,
And will give your heart to a dog to tear.
25
We’ve sorrow enough in the natural way,
When it comes to burying Christian clay.
Our loves are not given, but only lent,
At compound interest of cent per cent.
Though it is not always the case, I believe,
30
That the longer we’ve kept ’em, the more do we grieve:
For, when debts are payable, right or wrong,
A short-time loan is as bad as a long –
So why in–Heaven (before we are there)
Should we give our hearts to a dog to tear?
The Puzzler
The Celt in all his variants from Builth to Ballyhoo,
His mental processes are plain – one knows what he will do,
And can logically predicate his finish by his start;
But the English – ah, the English! – they are quite a race apart.
5
Their psychology
is bovine, their outlook crude and raw.
They abandon vital matters to be tickled with a straw;
But the straw that they were tickled with – the chaff that they were fed with –
They convert into a weaver’s beam to break their foeman’s head with.
For undemocratic reasons and for motives not of State,
10
They arrive at their conclusion – largely inarticulate.
Being void of self-expression they confide their views to none;
But sometimes in a smoking-room, one learns why things were done.
Yes, sometimes in a smoking-room, through clouds of ‘Ers’ and ‘Ums,’
Obliquely and by inference, illumination comes,
15
On some step that they have taken, or some action they approve –
Embellished with the argot of the Upper Fourth Remove.
In telegraphic sentences, half nodded to their friends,
They hint a matter’s inwardness – and there the matter ends.
And while the Celt is talking from Valencia to Kirkwall,
20
The English – ah, the English! – don’t say anything at all.
The Rabbi’s Song
II SAMUEL 14:14
If Thought can reach to Heaven,
On Heaven let it dwell,
For fear thy Thought be given
Like power to reach to Hell;
5
For fear the desolation
And darkness of thy mind
Perplex an habitation
Which thou hast left behind.
Let nothing linger after –
10
No whimpering ghost remain,
In wall, or beam, or rafter,
Of any hate or pain.
Cleanse and call home thy spirit,
Deny her leave to cast,
15
On aught thy heirs inherit,
The shadow of her past.
For think, in all thy sadness,
What road our griefs may take;
Whose brain reflect our madness,
20
Or whom our terrors shake:
For think, lest any languish
By cause of thy distress –
The arrows of our anguish
Fly farther than we guess.
25
Our lives, our tears, as water,
Are spilled upon the ground:
God giveth no man quarter,
Yet God a means hath found –
Though Faith and Hope have vanished,
30
And even Love grows dim –
A means whereby His banished
Be not expelled from Him!
A Charm
Take of English earth as much
As either hand may rightly clutch.
In the taking of it breathe
Prayer for all who lie beneath.
5
Not the great nor well-bespoke,
But the mere uncounted folk
Of whose life and death is none
Report or lamentation.
Lay that earth upon thy heart,
10
And thy sickness shall depart!
It shall sweeten and make whole
Fevered breath and festered soul.
It shall mightily restrain
Over-busied hand and brain.
15
It shall ease thy mortal strife
’Gainst the immortal woe of life,
Till thyself, restored, shall prove
By what grace the Heavens do move.
Take of English flowers these –
20
Spring’s full-facèd primroses,
Summer’s wild wide-hearted rose,
Autumn’s wall-flower of the close,
And, thy darkness to illume,
Winter’s bee-thronged ivy-bloom.
25
Seek and serve them where they bide
From Candlemas to Christmas-tide,
For these simples, used aright,
Can restore a failing sight.
These shall cleanse and purify
30
Webbed and inward-turning eye;
These shall show thee treasure hid,
Thy familiar fields amid;
At thy threshold, on thy hearth,
Or about thy daily path;
35
And reveal (which is thy need)
Every man a King indeed!
Cold Iron
Gold is for the mistress – silver for the maid –
Copper for the craftsman cunning at his trade.
‘Good!’ said the Baron, sitting in his hall,
‘But Iron – Cold Iron – is master of them all.’
5
So he made rebellion ’gainst the King his liege,
Camped before his citadel and summoned it to siege.
‘Nay!’ said the cannoneer on the castle wall,
‘But Iron – Cold Iron – shall be master of you all!’
Woe for the Baron and his knights so strong,
10
When the cruel cannon-balls laid ’em all along;
He was taken prisoner, he was cast in thrall,
And Iron – Cold Iron – was master of it all!
Yet his King spake kindly (ah, how kind a Lord!)
‘What if I release thee now and give thee back thy sword?’
15
‘Nay!’ said the Baron, ‘mock not at my fall,
For Iron – Cold Iron – is master of men all.’
Tears are for the craven, prayers are for the clown –
Halters for the silly neck that cannot keep a crown.
‘As my loss is grievous, so my hope is small,
20
For Iron – Cold Iron – must be master of men all!’
Yet his King made answer (few such Kings there be!)
‘Here is Bread and here is Wine – sit and sup with me.
Eat and drink in Mary’s Name, the whiles I do recall
How Iron – Cold Iron – can be master of men all!’
25
He took the Wine and blessed it. He blessed and brake the Bread.
With His own Hands He served Them, and presently He said:
‘See! These Hands they pierced with nails, outside My city wall,
Show Iron – Cold Iron – to be master of men all!
Wounds are for the desperate, blows are for the strong –
30
Balm and oil for weary hearts all cut and bruised with wrong.
I forgive thy treason – I redeem thy fall –
For Iron – Cold Iron – must be master of men all!’
Crowns are for the valiant – sceptres for the bold!
Thrones and powers for mighty men who dare to take and hold!
35
‘Nay!’ said the Baron, kneeling in his hall,
‘But Iron – Cold Iron – is master of men all!
Iron out of Calvary is master of men all!’
The Looking-Glass
Rudyard Kipling: Selected Poems Page 16