Songs from Books
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Songs from Books
LIFE'S HANDICAP
The doors were wide, the story saith,Out of the night came the patient wraith.He might not speak, and he could not stirA hair of the Baron's minniver.Speechless and strengthless, a shadow thin,He roved the castle to find his kin.And oh! 'twas a piteous sight to seeThe dumb ghost follow his enemy!The Return of Imray.Before my spring I garnered autumn's gain,Out of her time my field was white with grain,The year gave up her secrets, to my woe.Forced and deflowered each sick season layIn mystery of increase and decay;I saw the sunset ere men see the day,Who am too wise in all I should not know.Without Benefit of Clergy.KIM
Unto whose use the pregnant suns are poised,With idiot moons and stars retracting stars?Creep thou between – thy coming's all unnoised.Heaven hath her high, as Earth her baser, wars.Heir to these tumults, this affright, that fray(By Adam's, fathers', own, sin bound alway);Peer up, draw out thy horoscope and sayWhich planet mends thy threadbare fate, or mars.MANY INVENTIONS
And if ye doubt the tale I tell,Steer through the South Pacific swell;Go where the branching coral hivesUnending strife of endless lives,Where, leagued about the 'wildered boat,The rainbow jellies fill and float;And, lilting where the laver lingers,The starfish trips on all her fingers;Where, 'neath his myriad spines ashock,The sea-egg ripples down the rock;An orange wonder daily guessed,From darkness where the cuttles rest,Moored o'er the darker deeps that hideThe blind white sea-snake and his brideWho, drowsing, nose the long-lost shipsLet down through darkness to their lips.A Matter of Fact.There's a convict more in the Central Jail,Behind the old mud wall;There's a lifter less on the Border trail,And the Queen's peace over all,Dear boys,The Queen's peace over all!For we must bear our leader's blame,On us the shame will fall,If we lift our hand from a fettered landAnd the Queen's peace over all,Dear boys,The Queen's peace over all!The Lost Legion.'Less you want your toes trod off you'd better get back at once,For the bullocks are walking two by two,The byles are walking two by two,And the elephants bring the guns.Ho! Yuss!Great – big – long – black – forty-pounder guns:Jiggery-jolty to and fro,Each as big as a launch in tow —Blind – dumb – broad-breeched – beggars o' battering-guns.My Lord the Elephant.All the world over, nursing their scars,Sit the old fighting-men broke in the wars —Sit the old fighting men, surly and grimMocking the lilt of the conquerors' hymn.Dust of the battle o'erwhelmed them and hid.Fame never found them for aught that they did.Wounded and spent to the lazar they drew,Lining the road where the Legions roll through.Sons of the Laurel who press to your meed,(Worthy God's pity most – ye who succeed!)Ere you go triumphing, crowned, to the stars,Pity poor fighting men, broke in the wars!Collected.SONG OF THE FIFTH RIVER
When first by Eden Tree,The Four Great Rivers ran,To each was appointed a ManHer Prince and Ruler to be.But after this was ordained,(The ancient legends tell),There came dark Israel,For whom no River remained.Then He Whom the Rivers obeySaid to him: 'Fling on the groundA handful of yellow clay,And a Fifth Great River shall run,Mightier than these Four,In secret the Earth around;And Her secret evermore,Shall be shown to thee and thy Race.'So it was said and done.And deep in the veins of Earth,And, fed by a thousand springsThat comfort the market-place,Or sap the power of Kings,The Fifth Great River had birth,Even as it was foretold —The Secret River of Gold!And Israel laid downHis sceptre and his crown,To brood on that River's bank,Where the waters flashed and sank,And burrowed in earth and fell,And bided a season below,For reason that none might know,Save only Israel.He is Lord of the Last —The Fifth, most wonderful, Flood.He hears Her thunder pastAnd Her Song is in his blood.He can foresay: 'She will fall,'For he knows which fountain dries.Behind which desert-beltA thousand leagues to the South.He can foresay: 'She will rise.'He knows what far snows melt;Along what mountain-wallA thousand leagues to the North.He snuffs the coming drouthAs he snuffs the coming rain,He knows what each will bring forthsAnd turns it to his gain.A Ruler without a Throne,A Prince without a Sword,Israel follows his quest.In every land a guest,Of many lands a lord,In no land King is he.But the Fifth Great River keepsThe secret of Her deepsFor Israel alone,As it was ordered to be.THE CHILDREN'S SONG
Land of our Birth, we pledge to theeOur love and toil in the years to be;When we are grown and take our place,As men and women with our race.Father in Heaven who lovest all,Oh help Thy children when they call;That they may build from age to age,An undefilèd heritage.Teach us to bear the yoke in youth,With steadfastness and careful truth;That, in our time, Thy Grace may giveThe Truth whereby the Nations live.Teach us to rule ourselves alway,Controlled and cleanly night and day;That we may bring, if need arise.No maimed or worthless sacrifice.Teach us to look in all our ends,On Thee for judge, and not our friends;That we, with Thee, may walk uncowedBy fear or favour of the crowd.Teach us the Strength that cannot seek,By deed or thought, to hurt the weak;That, under Thee, we may possessMan's strength to comfort man's distress.Teach us Delight in simple things,And Mirth that has no bitter springs;Forgiveness free of evil done,And Love to all men 'neath the sun!Land of our Birth, our faith, our pride,For whose dear sake our fathers died;O Motherland, we pledge to thee,Head, heart, and hand through the years to be!PARADE-SONG OF THE CAMP-ANIMALS
ELEPHANTS OF THE GUN-TEAMSWe lent to Alexander the strength of Hercules,The wisdom of our foreheads, the cunning of our knees.We bowed our necks to service; they ne'er were loosed again, —Make way there, way for the ten-foot teams Of the Forty-Pounder train!GUN-BULLOCKSThose heroes in their harnesses avoid a cannon-ball,And what they know of powder upsets them one and all;Then we come into action and tug the guns again, —Make way there, way for the twenty yoke Of the Forty-Pounder train!CAVALRY HORSESBy the brand on my withers, the finest of tunesIs played by the Lancers, Hussars, and Dragoons,And it's sweeter than 'Stables' or 'Water' to me.The Cavalry Canter of 'Bonnie Dundee'!Then feed us and break us and handle and groom,And give us good riders and plenty of room,And launch us in column of squadron and seeThe Way of the War-horse to 'Bonnie Dundee'!SCREW-GUN MULESAs me and my companions were scrambling up a hill,The path was lost in rolling stones, but we went forward still;For we can wriggle and climb, my lads, and turn up everywhere,And it's our delight on a mountain height, with a leg or two to spare!Good luck to every sergeant, then, that lets us pick our road!Bad luck to all the driver-men that cannot pack a load!For we can wriggle and climb, my lads, and turn up everywhere,And it's our delight on a mountain height, with a leg or two to spare!COMMISSARIAT CAMELSWe haven't a camelty tune of our ownTo help us trollop along,But every neck is a hair-trombone(Rtt-ta-ta-ta! is a hair-trombone!)And this is our marching-song:Can't! Don't! Shan't! Won't!Pass it along the line!Somebody's pack has slid from his back,'Wish it were only mine!Somebody's load has tipped off in the road —Cheer for a halt and a row!Urrr! Yarrh! Grr! Arrh!Somebody's catching it now!ALL THE BEASTS TOGETHERChildren of the Camp are we,Serving each in his degree;Children of the yoke and goad,Pack and harness, pad and load.See our line across the plain.Like a heel-rope bent again,Beaching, writhing, rolling far.Sweeping all away to war!While the men that walk beside,Dusty, silent, heavy-eyed,Cannot tell why we or theyMarch and suffer day by day. Children of the Camp are we, Serving each in hiss degree; Children of the yoke and goad, Pack and harness, pad and load.IF —
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: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: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!'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!THE PRODIGAL SON
(Western Version)Here come I to my own again,Fed, forgiven and known again,Claimed by bone of my bone againAnd cheered by flesh of my flesh.The fatted calf is dressed for me,But the husks have greater zest for me,I think my pigs will be best for me,So I'm off to the Yards afresh.I never was very refined, you see,(And it weighs on my brother's mind, you see)But there's no reproach among swine, d'you see,For being a bit of a swine.So I'm off with wallet and staff to eatThe bread that is three parts chaff to wheat,But glory be! – there's a laugh to it,Which isn't the case when we dine.My father glooms and advises me,My brother sulks and despises me,And Mother catechises meTill I want to go out and swear.And, in spite of the butler's gravity,I know that the servants have it IAm a monster of moral depravity,And I'm damned if I think it's fair!I wasted my substance, I know I did,On riotous living, so I did,But there's nothing on record to show I didWorse than my betters have done.They talk of the money I spent out there —They hint at the pace that I went out there —But they all forget I was sent out thereAlone as a rich man's son.So I was a mark for plunder at once,And lost my cash (can you wonder?) at once,But I didn't give up and knock under at once,I worked in the Yards, for a spell.Where I spent my nights and my days with hogs,And shared their milk and maize with hogs,Till, I guess, I have learned what pays with hogsAnd – I have that knowledge to sell!So back I go to my job again,Not so easy to rob again,Or quite so ready to sob againOn any neck that's around.I'm leaving, Pater. Good-bye to you!God bless you, Mater! I'll write to you…I wouldn't be impolite to you,But, Brother, you are a hound!THE NECESSITARIAN
I know not in Whose hands are laid To empty upon earthFrom unsuspected ambuscade The very Urns of Mirth;Who bids the Heavenly Lark arise And cheer our solemn round —The Jest beheld with streaming eyes And grovellings on the ground;Who joins the flats of Time and Chance Behind the prey preferred,And thrones on Shrieking Circumstance The Sacredly Absurd,Till Laughter, voiceless through excess, Waves mute appeal and sore,Above the midriff's deep distress, For breath to laugh once more.No creed hath dared to hail Him Lord, No raptured choirs proclaim,And Nature's strenuous Overword Hath nowhere breathed His Name.Yet, it must be, on wayside jape, The selfsame Power bestowsThe selfsame power as went to shape His Planet or His Rose.THE JESTER
There are three degrees of blissAt the foot of Allah's Throne,And the highest place is hisWho saves a brother's soulAt peril of his own.There is the Power made known!There are three degrees of blissIn the Gardens of Paradise,And the second place is hisWho saves his brother's soulBy excellent advice.For there the Glory lies!There are three degrees of blissAnd three abodes of the Blest,And the lowest place is hisWho has saved a soul by a jestAnd a brother's soul in sport …But there do the Angels resort!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.Neither wait we any moreThat worn sail which Argo bore.Dust and dust of ashes close All the Vestal Virgins' care;And the oldest altar shows But an older darkness there.Age-encamped OblivionTenteth every light that shone!Yet shall we, for Suns that die, Wall our wanderings from desire?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 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.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, To submit a further realm!THE TWO-SIDED MAN
Much I owe to the Land that grew —More to the Life that fed —But most to Allah Who gave me twoSeparate sides to my head.Much I reflect on the Good and the TrueIn the Faiths beneath the sun,But most upon Allah Who gave me twoSides to my head, not one.Wesley's following, Calvin's flock,White or yellow or bronze,Shaman, Ju-ju or Angekok,Minister, Mukamuk, Bonze —Here is a health, my brothers, to you,However your prayers are said,And praised be Allah Who gave me twoSeparate sides to my head!I would go without shirt or shoe,Friend, tobacco or bread,Sooner than lose for a minute the twoSeparate sides of my head!'LUKANNON'
(Song of the breeding Seal. Aleutian Islands)I met my mates in the morning (and oh, but I am old!)Where roaring on the ledges the summer ground-swell rolled.I heard them lift the chorus that drowned the breakers' song —The Beaches of Lukannon – two million voices strong!The song of pleasant stations beside the salt lagoons,The song of blowing squadrons that shuffled down the dunes,The song of midnight dances that churned the sea to flame —The Beaches of Lukannon – before the sealers came!I met my mates in the morning (I'll never meet them more!);They came and went in legions that darkened all the shore.And through the foam-flecked offing as far as voice could reachWe hailed the landing-parties and we sang them up the beach.The Beaches of Lukannon – the winter-wheat so tall —The dripping, crinkled lichens, and the sea-fog drenching all!The platforms of our playground, all shining smooth and worn!The Beaches of Lukannon – the home where we were born!I meet my mates in the morning, a broken, scattered band.Men shoot us in the water and club us on the land;Men drive us to the Salt House like silly sheep and tame,And still we sing Lukannon – before the sealers came.Wheel down, wheel down to southward! Oh, Gooverooska go!And tell the Deep-Sea Viceroys the story of our woe;Ere, empty as the shark's egg the tempest flings ashore,The Beaches of Lukannon shall know their sons no more!AN ASTROLOGER'S SONG
To the Heavens above us O look and beholdThe Planets that love us All harnessed in gold!What chariots, what horses, Against us shall bideWhile the Stars in their courses Do fight on our side?All thought, all desires, That are under the sun,Are one with their fires, As we also are one.All matter, all spirit, All fashion, all frame,Receive and inherit Their strength from the same.Oh, man that deniest All power save thine own,Their power in the highest Is mightily shown.Not less in the lowest That power is made clear(Oh, man, if thou knowest, What treasure is here!)Earth quakes in her throes And we wonder for why.But the blind planet knows When her ruler is nigh;And, attuned since Creation To perfect accord,She thrills in her station And yearns to her Lord.The waters have risen, The springs are unbound —The floods break their prison, And ravin around.No rampart withstands 'em, Their fury will last,Till the Sign that commands 'em Sinks low or swings past.Through abysses unproven, O'er gulfs beyond thought,Our portion is woven, Our burden is brought.Yet They that prepare it, Whose Nature we share,Make us who must bear it Well able to bear.Though terrors o'ertake us We'll not be afraid.No Power can unmake us Save that which has made.Nor yet beyond reason Or hope shall we fall —All things have their season, And Mercy crowns all!Then, doubt not, ye fearful — The Eternal is King —Up, heart, and be cheerful, And lustily sing: —What chariots, what horses, Against us shall bideWhile the Stars in their courses Do fight on our side?'THE POWER OF THE DOG'
There is sorrow enough in the natural wayFrom men and women to fill our day;But when we are certain of sorrow in store,Why do we always arrange for more?Brothers and Sisters, I bid you bewareOf giving your heart to a dog to tear.Buy a pup and your money will buyLove unflinching that cannot lie —Perfect passion and worship fedBy a kick in the ribs or a pat on the head.Nevertheless it is hardly fairTo risk your heart for a dog to tear.When the fourteen years which Nature permitsAre closing in asthma, or tumour, or fits,And the vet's unspoken prescription runsTo 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,When the whimper of welcome is stilled (how still!),When the spirit that answered your every moodIs gone – wherever it goes – for good,You will discover how much you care,And will give your heart to a dog to tear.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,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 RABBI'S SONG
If Thought can reach to Heaven, On Heaven let it dwell,For fear thy Thought be given Like power to reach to Hell.For fear the desolation And darkness of thy mindPerplex an habitation Which thou hast left behind.Let nothing linger after — 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,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, 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.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, And even love grows dim —A means whereby His banished Be not expelled from Him.THE BEE BOY'S SONG
Bees! Bees! Hark to your bees!'Hide from your neighbours as much as you please,But all that has happened, to us you must tell,Or else we will give you no honey to sell!'A maiden in her glory, Upon her wedding-day,Must tell her Bees the story, Or else they'll fly away. Fly away – die away — Dwindle down and leave you! But if you don't deceive your Bees, Your Bees will not deceive you.Marriage, birth or buryin', News across the seas,All you're sad or merry in, You must tell the Bees. Tell 'em coming in an' out, Where the Fanners fan, 'Cause the Bees are just about As curious as a man!Don't you wait where trees are, When the lightnings play,Nor don't you hate where Bees are, Or else they'll pine away. Pine away – dwine away — Anything to leave you! But if you never grieve your Bees, Your Bees'll never grieve you.THE RETURN OF THE CHILDREN
Neither the harps nor the crowns amused, nor the cherubs' dove-winged races —Holding hands forlornly the Children wandered beneath the Dome,Plucking the splendid robes of the passers-by, and with pitiful facesBegging what Princes and Powers refused: – 'Ah, please will you let us go home?'Over the jewelled floor, nigh weeping, ran to them Mary the Mother,Kneeled and caressed and made promise with kisses, and drew them along to the gateway —Yea, the all-iron unbribeable Door which Peter must guard and none other.Straightway She took the Keys from his keeping, and opened and freed them straightway.Then, to Her Son, Who had seen and smiled, She said: 'On the night that I bore Thee,What didst Thou care for a love beyond mine or a heaven that was not my arm?Didst Thou push from the nipple, O Child, to hear the angels adore Thee?When we two lay in the breath of the kine?' And He said: – 'Thou hast done no harm.'So through the Void the Children ran homeward merrily hand in hand,Looking neither to left nor right where the breathless Heavens stood still.And the Guards of the Void resheathed their swords, for they heard the Command:'Shall I that have suffered the children to come to Me hold them against their will?'MERROW DOWN
IThere runs a road by Merrow Down — A grassy track to-day it is —An hour out of Guildford town, Above the river Wey it is.Here, when they heard the horse-bells ring, The ancient Britons dressed and rodeTo watch the dark Phoenicians bring Their goods along the Western Road.Yes, here, or hereabouts, they met To hold their racial talks and such —To barter beads for Whitby jet, And tin for gay shell torques and such.But long and long before that time (When bison used to roam on it)Did Taffy and her Daddy climb That Down, and had their home on it.Then beavers built in Broadstonebrook And made a swamp where Bramley stands;And bears from Shere would come and look For Taffimai where Shamley stands.The Wey, that Taffy called Wagai, Was more than six times bigger then;And all the Tribe of Tegumai They cut a noble figure then!IIOf all the Tribe of Tegumai Who cut that figure, none remain, —On Merrow Down the cuckoos cry — The silence and the sun remain.But as the faithful years return And hearts unwounded sing again,Comes Taffy dancing through the fern To lead the Surrey spring again.Her brows are bound with bracken-fronds, And golden elf-locks fly above;Her eyes are bright as diamonds And bluer than the sky above.In mocassins and deer-skin cloak, Unfearing, free and fair she flits,And lights her little damp-wood smoke To show her Daddy where she flits.For far – oh, very far behind, So far she cannot call to him,Comes Tegumai alone to find The daughter that was all to him.OLD MOTHER LAIDINWOOL
'Old Mother Laidinwool had nigh twelve months been dead.She heard the hops was doing well, an' so popped up her head,'For said she: 'The lads I've picked with when I was young and fair,They're bound to be at hopping and I'm bound to meet 'em there!' Let me up and go Back to the work I know, Lord! Back to the work I know, Lord! For it's dark where I lie down, My Lord! An' it's dark where I lie down!Old Mother Laidinwool, she give her bones a shake,An' trotted down the churchyard path as fast as she could make.She met the Parson walking, but she says to him, says she:'Oh don't let no one trouble for a poor old ghost like me!''Twas all a warm September an' the hops had flourished grand,She saw the folks get into 'em with stockin's on their hands;An' none of 'em was foreigners but all which she had known,And old Mother Laidinwool she blessed 'em every one.She saw her daughters picking, an' their children them beside,An' she moved among the babies an' she stilled 'em when they cried.She saw their clothes was bought, not begged, an' they was clean an' fat,An' old Mother Laidinwool she thanked the Lord for that.Old Mother Laidinwool she waited on all dayUntil it come too dark to see an' people went away —Until it come too dark to see an' lights began to show,An' old Mother Laidinwool she hadn't where to go.Old Mother Laidinwool she give her bones a shake,An' trotted back to churchyard-mould as fast as she could make.She went where she was bidden to an' there laid down her ghost, …An' the Lord have mercy on you in the Day you need it most! Let me in again, Out of the wet an' rain, Lord! Out of the dark an rain, Lord! For it's best as you shall say, My Lord! An' it's best as you shall say!Авторизация