Gloria

Work with the hope that lures us on
Headlong to the game;
This shall last when we are gone,
This shall bear our name.
When the tombstone tilts awry.
When the date is blurred.
This shall bear abundantly
Mower, flock, and herd.

The Secret of the Machines

We were taken from the ore-bed and the mine,
We were melted in the furnace and the pit–
We were cast and wrought and hammered to design,
We were cut and filed and tooled and gauged to fit.
Some water, coal, and oil is all we ask,
And a thousandth of an inch to give us play:
And now, if you will set us to our task,
We will serve you four and twenty hours a day!

We can pull and haul and push and lift and drive,
We can print and plough and weave and heat and light,
We can run and race and swim and fly and dive,
We can see and hear and count and read and write!

Would you call a friend from half across the world?
If you’ll let us have his name and town and state,
You shall see and hear your crackling question hurled
Across the arch of heaven while you wait.
Has he answered? Does he need you at his side–
You can start this very evening if you choose
And take the Western Ocean in the stride
Of seventy thousand horses and some screws!

The boat-express is waiting your command!
You will find the Mauretania at the quay,
Till her captain turns the lever ‘neath his hand,
And the monstrous nine-decked city goes to sea.

Do you wish to make the mountains bare their head
And lay their new-cut forests at your feet?
Do you want to turn a river in its bed,
Or plant a barren wilderness with wheat?
Shall we pipe aloft and bring you water down
From the never-failing cisterns of the snows,
To work the mills and tramways in your town,
And irrigate your orchards as it flows?

It is easy! Give us dynamite and drills!
Watch the iron-shouldered rocks lie down and quake,
As the thirsty desert-level floods and fills,
And the valley we have dammed becomes a lake.

But remember, please, the Law by which we live,
We are not built to comprehend a lie,
We can neither love nor pity nor forgive.
If you make a slip in handling us you die!
We are greater than the Peoples or the Kings–
Be humble, as you crawl beneath our rods!–
Our touch can alter all created things,
We are everything on earth–except The Gods!

Though our smoke may hide the Heavens from your eyes,
It will vanish and the stars will shine again,
Because, for all our power and weight and size,
We are nothing more than children of your brain!

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If—

1 
IF you can keep your head when all about you
Are losing theirs and blaming it on you,
If you can trust yourself when all men doubt you,
But make allowance for their doubting too;
If you can wait and not be tired by waiting,
Or being lied about, don't deal in lies,
Or being hated, don't give way to hating,
And yet don't look too good, nor talk too wise:
2 
If you can dream - and not make dreams your master;
If you can think - and not make thoughts your aim;
If you can meet with Triumph and Disaster
And treat those two impostors just the same;
If you can bear to hear the truth you've spoken
Twisted by knaves to make a trap for fools,
Or watch the things you gave your life to, broken,
And stoop and build 'em up with worn-out tools:
3 
If you can make one heap of all your winnings
And risk it on one turn of pitch-and-toss,
And lose, and start again at your beginnings
And never breathe a word about your loss;
If you can force your heart and nerve and sinew
To serve your turn long after they are gone,
And so hold on when there is nothing in you
Except the Will which says to them: 'Hold on!'
4 
If you can talk with crowds and keep your virtue,
Or walk with Kings - nor lose the common touch,
If neither foes nor loving friends can hurt you,
If all men count with you, but none too much;
If you can fill the unforgiving minute
With sixty seconds' worth of distance run,
Yours is the Earth and everything that's in it,
And - which is more - you'll be a Man, my son!

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Nursery Rhymes for little children

Old Nursery Rhymes on which Kipling's Rhymes for little Anglo-Indians were based
1. Rock-a-Bye Baby Rock-a-Bye Baby in the treetop. If the wind blows the cradle will rock If the bough breaks, the cradle will fall Down will come cradle, baby and all. 2. My Little Nut Tree I had a little nut tree, nothing would it bear But a silver nut-meg and a golden pear. the King of Spain's daughter came to visit me And all for the sake of my little nut tree. 3. Baa-baa Black Sheep Baa-baa Black Sheep, have you any wool ? Yes sir yes sir three bags full One for the Master and one for the Dame And one for the little boy that lives down the lane. 4. See-saw Margery Daw See-saw Margery Daw, Johnny shall have a new master. He shall have but a penny a day, Because he can't work any faster. 5. Sing a song of Sixpence Sing a song of Sixpence, a pocket full of rye. Four and twenty blackbirds baked in a pie. When the pie was open the birds began to sing. Wasn't that a dainty dish to put before the king. 6. Comin' through the rye Gin a body, meet a body, comin' through the rye. Gin a body, kiss a body, make a body cry. Ilka lassie has her laddie, none, they say, hae I. Yet all the lads they smile at me, when comin' through the rye. 7. Jack and Jill Jack and Jill went up the hill To fetch a pail of water Jack came fell down and broke his crown And Jill came tumbling after. 8. Mary, Mary Mary, Mary, quite contrary, How does your garden grow ? With silver bells and cockle shells And pretty maids all in a row.

The Kingdom of Bombay

‘All classes and creeds are alike interested in a policy
(the transfer of Sind from the jurisdiction of the Bombay
Government to the Punjab) which strikes a mortal blow
at the future growth and prosperity of the Kingdom of Bombay’
—Times of India, April 5th.

Who are they that bluff and blow among the mud-banks of their harbour?
Making mock of Upper India where the High Gods live alway?
Grey rats of Prince’s Dock—more dull than oysters of Colaba—
Apes of Apollo Bunder—yea, bacilli of Back Bay!

                                                                                                     Swinburne (adapted)

Lo! I am crowned

Lo! I am crowned,
A King among men,
Coming among men,
From a new world,
Rich in my Kingdom
Having no fear
In Earth or in Heaven,
Confident, Masterless
Through my heart’s power,
Through the magnificence
Of my Love’s dower,
A King among men.

Whence have you wandered?
Surely we knew thee,
Well in the old days,
Sullen were you
Profitless always
Scantily gaining
Thy daily bread,
Moody and mute …

[incomplete]

As one who throws
Earth’s gold away in scorn

As one who throws Earth’s gold away in scorn,
    Holding Tomorrow shall refill his purse,
So he who spurns his brain’s light offspring, born
    In prose or verse.

Behold the night is certain when our hand
    Shall fail from labour and our eye from sight—
Thrice mad who has no treasure at command
    Against that night.

Wherefore, while each new day brings some new thought
    And Life’s chain sparkles, golden link by link
Write quickly; good or evil, all is fraught
    More deeply than you think.

Epigraph

THE DUKE.  A new song, sirrah!

FIRST MINSTREL.  New as is new bread,

Baked with the corn of yester-year, my lord:

 These fledglings of the nest will try their pipes,

And shrill it boldly in the same old tune

You hear on every woodland bough.

                                                    OLD SONG

The Idiot Boy

He wandered down the mountain grade
    Beyond the speed assigned—
A youth whom Justice often stayed
    And generally fined.

He went alone, that none might know
    If he could drive or steer.
Now he is in the ditch, and Oh!
    The differential gear!

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To Motorists

SINCE ye distemper and defile
Sweet Herè by the measured mile,
Nor aught on jocund highways heed
Except the evidence of speed;
And bear about your dreadful task
Faces beshrouded ’neath a mask;
Great goblin eyes and gluey hands
And souls enslaved to gears and bands;
Here shall no graver curse be said
Than, though y’are quick, that ye are dead!