“The torn
boughs trailing”

The torn boughs trailing o'er the tusks aslant, 
The saplings reeling in the path he trod, 
Declare his might—our  lord the Elephant, 
Chief of the ways of God.

The black bulk heaving where the oxen pant, 
The bowed head toiling where the guns careen, 
Declare  our might—our  slave the Elephant, 
And servant of the Queen.