Blessed be the English and all their ways and works. Cursèd be the Infidels, Hereticks, and Turks! "Amen," quo' Jobson, " but where I used to lie Was neither Candle, Bell nor Book to curse my brethren by. "But a palm-tree in full bearing, bowing down, bowing down, To a surf that drove unsparing at the brown, walled town Conches in a temple, oil-lamps in a dome And a low moon out of Africa said: 'This way home!'" "Blessèd be the English and all that they profess. Cursèd be the Savages that prance in nakedness!" "Amen," quo' Jobson, "but where I used to lie Was neither shirt nor pantaloons to catch my brethren by: "But a well-wheel slowly creaking, going round, going round, By a water-channel leaking over drowned, warm ground - Parrots very busy in the trellised pepper-vine - And a high sun over Asia shouting: 'Rise and shine !'" "Blessèd be the English and everything they own. Cursèd be the Infidels that bow to wood and stone!" "Amen," quo' Jobson, "but where I used to lie Was neither pew nor Gospelleer to save my brethren by: "But a desert stretched and stricken, left and right, left and right, Where the piled mirages thicken under white-hot light - A skull beneath a sand-hill and a viper coiled inside - And a red wind out of Libya roaring: 'Run and hide!'" "Blessèd be the English and all they make or do. Cursèd be the Hereticks who doubt that this is true!" "Amen," quo' Jobson, "but where I mean to die Is neither rule nor calliper to judge the matter by: "But Himalaya heavenward-heading, sheer and vast, sheer and vast, In a million summits bedding on the last world's past - A certain sacred mountain where the scented cedars climb, And - the feet of my Beloved hurrying back through Time! "