Take up the White Man's burden -
The savage wars of peace —
Fill full the mouth of Famine
And bid the sickness cease;
And when your goal is nearest
The end for others sought,
Watch Sloth and heathen Folly
Bring all your hope to nought.
Take up the White Man's burden -
No tawdry rule of kings,
But toil of serf and sweeper

The tale of common things.
The ports ye shall not enter,

The roads ye shall not tread,
Go make them with your living,
And mark them with your dead.

Take up the White Man's burden -
And reap his old reward:
The blame of those ye better,

The hate of those ye guard

The cry of hosts ye humour

(Ah, slowly!) toward the light:"Why brought ye us from bondage, "Our loved Egyptian night?"

Take up the White Man's burden
Ye dare not stoop to less
Nor call too loud on Freedom
To cloak your weariness;

By all ye cry or whisper,
By all ye leave or do,
The silent, sullen peoples

Shall weigh your Gods and you.

Take up the White Man's burden
Have done with childish days-
The lightly proffered laurel,

The easy, ungrudged praise.
Comes now, to search your manhood
Through all the thankless years,
Cold, edged with dear-bought wisdom,
The judgment of your peers!

HYMN BEFORE ACTION

1896

THE earth is full of anger,

The seas are dark with wrath,
The Nations in their harness

Go up against our path:
Ere yet we loose the legions

Ere yet we draw the blade,
Jehovah of the Thunders,

Lord God of Battles, aid!

High lust and froward bearing,
Proud heart, rebellious brow-

Deaf ear and soul uncaring,

We seek Thy mercy now!
The sinner that forswore Thee,

The fool that passed Thee by, Our times are known before Thee Lord, grant us strength to die!

RECESSIONAL

1897

GOD of our fathers, known of old,

Lord of our far-flung battle-line,
Beneath whose awful Hand we hold
Dominion over palm and pine
Lord God of Hosts, be with us yet,
Lest we forget - lest we forget!
The tumult and the shouting dies;
The captains and the kings depart:
Still stands Thine ancient sacrifice,
An humble and a contrite heart.
Lord God of Hosts, be with us yet,
Lest we forget - lest we forget!

Far-called, our navies melt away;

On dune and headland sinks the fire: Lo, all our pomp of yesterday

Is one with Nineveh and Tyre! Judge of the Nations, spare us yet, Lest we forget - lest we forget!

If, drunk with sight of power, we loose Wild tongues that have not Thee in awe, Such boastings as the Gentiles use,

Or lesser breeds without the Law
Lord God of Hosts, be with us yet,
Lest we forget - lest we forget!

For heathen heart that puts her trust
In reeking tube and iron shard,
All valiant dust that builds on dust,

And guarding, calls not Thee to guard, For frantic boast and foolish word

Thy Mercy on Thy People, Lord!

THE THREE-DECKER

1894

"The three-volume novel is extinct."

FULL thirty foot she towered from waterline to rail.

It cost a watch to steer her, and a week to shorten sail;
But, spite all modern notions, I've found her first and best-
The only certain packet for the Islands of the Blest.

Fair held the breeze behind us

prayers.

't was warm with lovers'

We'd stolen wills for ballast and a crew of missing heirs. They shipped as Able Bastards till the Wicked Nurse con

fessed,

And they worked the old three-decker to the Islands of the

Blest.

By ways no gaze could follow, a course unspoiled of cook,
Per Fancy, fleetest in man, our titled berths we took
With maids of matchless beauty and parentage unguessed,
And a Church of England parson for the Islands of the Blest.

We asked no social questions—we pumped no hidden shame —
We never talked obstetrics when the Little Stranger came:
We left the Lord in Heaven, we left the fiends in Hell.
We weren't exactly Yussufs, but — Zuleika did n't tell.

No moral doubt assailed us, so when the port we neared,
The villain had his flogging at the gangway, and we cheered.
"T was fiddle in the forc's'le -'t was garlands on the mast,
For every one got married, and I went ashore at last.

I left 'em all in couples akissing on the decks.
I left the lovers loving and the parents signing cheques.
In endless English comfort, by county-folk caressed,
I left the old three-decker at the Islands of the Blest!