Songs from Books

THE LAW OF THE JUNGLE

 
_Now this is the Law of the Jungle – as old and as true as the sky; And the Wolf that shall keep it may prosper, but the Wolf that shall break it must die.
 
 
As the creeper that girdles the tree-trunk the Law runneth forward and back —
For the strength of the Pack is the Wolf, and the strength of the Wolf is the Pack._
 
 
Wash daily from nose-tip to tail-tip; drink deeply, but never too deep;
And remember the night is for hunting, and forget not the day is for sleep.
 
 
The Jackal may follow the Tiger, but, Cub, when thy whiskers are grown,
Remember the Wolf is a hunter – go forth and get food of thine own.
 
 
Keep peace with the Lords of the Jungle – the Tiger, the Panther, the Bear;
And trouble not Hathi the Silent, and mock not the Boar in his lair.
 
 
When Pack meets with Pack in the Jungle, and neither will go from the trail,
Lie down till the leaders have spoken – it may be fair words shall prevail.
 
 
When ye fight with a Wolf of the Pack, ye must fight him alone and afar,
Lest others take part in the quarrel, and the Pack be diminished by war.
 
 
The Lair of the Wolf is his refuge, and where he has made him his home,
Not even the Head Wolf may enter, not even the Council may come.
 
 
The Lair of the Wolf is his refuge, but where he has digged it too plain,
The Council shall send him a message, and so he shall change it again.
 
 
If ye kill before midnight, be silent, and wake not the woods with your bay,
Lest ye frighten the deer from the crops, and the brothers go empty away.
 
 
Ye may kill for yourselves, and your mates, and your cubs as they need, and ye can;
But kill not for pleasure of killing, and seven times never kill Man!
 
 
If ye plunder his Kill from a weaker, devour not all in thy pride;
Pack-Right is the right of the meanest; so leave him the head and the hide.
 
 
The Kill of the Pack is the meat of the Pack. Ye must eat where it lies;
And no one may carry away of that meat to his lair, or he dies.
 
 
The Kill of the Wolf is the meat of the Wolf. He may do what he will,
But, till he has given permission, the Pack may not eat of that Kill.
 
 
Cub-Right is the right of the Yearling. From all of his Pack he may claim
Full-gorge when the killer has eaten; and none may refuse him the same.
 
 
Lair-Right is the right of the Mother. From all of her year she may claim
One haunch of each kill for her litter; and none may deny her the same.
 
 
Cave-Right is the right of the Father – to hunt by himself for his own:
He is freed of all calls to the Pack; he is judged by the Council alone.
 
 
Because of his age and his cunning, because of his gripe and his paw,
In all that the Law leaveth open, the word of the Head Wolf is Law.
 

Now these are the Laws of the Jungle, and many and mighty are they; But the head and the hoof of the Law and the haunch and the hump is – Obey!

'A SERVANT WHEN HE REIGNETH'

(For three things the earth is disquieted, and for four which it cannot bear: for a servant when he reigneth; and a fool when he is filled with meat; for an odious woman when she is married; and an handmaid that is heir to her mistress. – PROV. XXX. 21, 22, 23.)

 
Three things make earth unquiet,
And four she cannot brook;
The godly Agur counted them
And put them in a book —
Those Four Tremendous Curses
With which mankind is cursed:
But a Servant when He Reigneth
Old Agur counted first.
 
 
An Handmaid that is Mistress
We need not call upon,
A Fool when he is full of Meat
Will fall asleep anon.
An Odious Woman Married
May bear a babe and mend.
But a Servant when He Reigneth
Is Confusion to the end.
 
 
His feet are swift to tumult,
His hands are slow to toil,
His ears are deaf to reason,
His lips are loud in broil.
He knows no use for power
Except to show his might,
He gives no heed to judgment
Unless it prove him right.
 
 
Because he served a master
Before his Kingship came,
And hid in all disaster
Behind his master's name,
So, when his Folly opens
The unnecessary hells,
A Servant when He Reigneth
Throws the blame on some one else.
 
 
His vows are lightly spoken,
His faith is hard to bind.
His trust is easy broken,
He fears his fellow-kind.
The nearest mob will move him
To break the pledge he gave —
Oh a Servant when He Reigneth
Is more than ever slave!
 

'OUR FATHERS OF OLD'

 
Excellent herbs had our fathers of old —
  Excellent herbs to ease their pain —
Alexanders and Marigold,
  Eyebright, Orris, and Elecampane.
Basil, Rocket, Valerian, Rue,
  (Almost singing themselves they run)
Vervain, Dittany, Call-me-to-you —
  Cowslip, Melilot, Rose of the Sun.
    Anything green that grew out of the mould
    Was an excellent herb to our fathers of old.
 
 
Wonderful tales had our fathers of old —
  Wonderful tales of the herbs and the stars —
The Sun was Lord of the Marigold,
  Basil and Rocket belonged to Mars.
Pat as a sum in division it goes —
  (Every plant had a star bespoke) —
Who but Venus should govern the Rose?
  Who but Jupiter own the Oak?
    Simply and gravely the facts are told
    In the wonderful books of our fathers of old.
 
 
Wonderful little, when all is said,
  Wonderful little our fathers knew.
Half their remedies cured you dead —
  Most of their teaching was quite untrue —
'Look at the stars when a patient is ill,
  (Dirt has nothing to do with disease,)
Bleed and blister as much as you will,
  Blister and bleed him as oft as you please.'
    Whence enormous and manifold
    Errors were made by our fathers of old.
 
 
Yet when the sickness was sore in the land,
  And neither planets nor herbs assuaged,
They took their lives in their lancet-hand
  And, oh, what a wonderful war they waged!
Yes, when the crosses were chalked on the door —
  (Yes, when the terrible dead-cart rolled,)
Excellent courage our fathers bore —
  Excellent heart had our fathers of old.
    None too learned, but nobly bold
    Into the fight went our fathers of old.
 
 
If it be certain, as Galen says,
  And sage Hippocrates holds as much —
'That those afflicted by doubts and dismays
  Are mightily helped by a dead man's touch',
Then, be good to us, stars above!
  Then, be good to us, herbs below!
We are afflicted by what we can prove,
  We are distracted by what we know —
      So – ah, so!
    Down from your heaven or up from your mould,
    Send us the hearts of our fathers of old!
 

THE HERITAGE

 
Our Fathers in a wondrous age,
  Ere yet the earth was small,
Ensured to us an heritage,
  And doubted not at all
That we, the children of their heart,
  Which then did beat so high,
In later time should play like part
  For our posterity.
 
 
A thousand years they steadfast built,
  To 'vantage us and ours,
The Walls that were a world's despair,
  The sea-constraining Towers:
Yet in their midmost pride they knew,
  And unto Kings made known,
Not all from these their strength they drew,
  Their faith from brass or stone.
 
 
Youth's passion, manhood's fierce intent.
  With age's judgment wise,
They spent, and counted not they spent.
  At daily sacrifice.
Not lambs alone nor purchased doves
  Or tithe of trader's gold —
Their lives most dear, their dearer loves,
  They offered up of old.
 
 
Refraining e'en from lawful things.
  They bowed the neck to bear
The unadornèd yoke that brings
  Stark toil and sternest care.
Wherefore through them is Freedom sure;
  Wherefore through them we stand
From all but sloth and pride secure,
  In a delightsome land.
 
 
Then, fretful, murmur not they gave
  So great a charge to keep.
Nor dream that awestruck Time shall save
  Their labour while we sleep.
Dear-bought and clear, a thousand year,
  Our fathers' title runs.
Make we likewise their sacrifice,
  Defrauding not our sons.
 

CHAPTER HEADINGS

'BEAST AND MAN IN INDIA'

 
They killed a child to please the Gods
In earth's young penitence,
And I have bled in that Babe's stead
Because of innocence.
 
 
I bear the sins of sinful men
That have no sin of my own,
They drive me forth to Heaven's wrath
Unpastured and alone.
 
 
I am the meat of sacrifice,
The ransom of man's guilt,
For they give my life to the altar-knife
Wherever shrine is built.
 
 
The Goat.
 
 
Between the waving tufts of jungle-grass,
Up from the river as the twilight falls,
Across the dust-beclouded plain they pass
On to the village walls.
 
 
Great is the sword and mighty is the pen,
But greater far the labouring ploughman's blade,
For on its oxen and its husbandmen
An Empire's strength is laid.
 
 
The Oxen.
 
 
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.
 
 
The Elephant.
 
 
Dark children of the mere and marsh,
Wallow and waste and lea,
Outcaste they wait at the village gate
With folk of low degree.
 
 
Their pasture is in no man's land.
Their food the cattle's scorn,
Their rest is mire and their desire
The thicket and the thorn.
 
 
But woe to those who break their sleep,
And woe to those who dare
To rouse the herd-bull from his keep,
The wild boar from his lair!
 
 
Pigs and Buffaloes.
 
 
The beasts are very wise,
Their mouths are clean of lies,
They talk one to the other,
Bullock to bullock's brother
Resting after their labours,
Each in stall with his neighbours.
But man with goad and whip,
Breaks up their fellowship,
Shouts in their silky ears
Filling their souls with fears.
When he has ploughed the land,
He says: 'They understand.'
But the beasts in stall together,
Freed from the yoke and tether,
Say as the torn flanks smoke:
'Nay, 'twas the whip that spoke.'
 

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 stir
A 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 see
The 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 lay
In 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 say
Which 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 hives
Unending 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 hide
The blind white sea-snake and his bride
Who, drowsing, nose the long-lost ships
Let 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 land
And 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 grim
Mocking 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 Man
Her 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 obey
Said to him: 'Fling on the ground
A 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 springs
That 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 down
His 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 past
And Her Song is in his blood.
He can foresay: 'She will fall,'
For he knows which fountain dries.
Behind which desert-belt
A thousand leagues to the South.
 
 
He can foresay: 'She will rise.'
He knows what far snows melt;
Along what mountain-wall
A thousand leagues to the North.
He snuffs the coming drouth
As he snuffs the coming rain,
He knows what each will bring forths
And 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 keeps
The secret of Her deeps
For Israel alone,
As it was ordered to be.
 

THE CHILDREN'S SONG

 
Land of our Birth, we pledge to thee
Our 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 give
The 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 uncowed
By 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 possess
Man'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-TEAMS

 
We 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-BULLOCKS

 
Those 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 HORSES

 
By the brand on my withers, the finest of tunes
Is 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 see
The Way of the War-horse to 'Bonnie Dundee'!
 

SCREW-GUN MULES

 
As 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 CAMELS

 
We haven't a camelty tune of our own
To 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 TOGETHER

 
Children 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 they
March 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 again
And 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 eat
The 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 me
Till I want to go out and swear.
And, in spite of the butler's gravity,
I know that the servants have it I
Am 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 did
Worse 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 there
Alone 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 hogs
And – 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 again
On 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!