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At His Execution

I am made all things to all men—

Hebrew, Roman, and Greek—

In each one's tongue I speal,

Suiting to each my word,

That some may be drawn to the Lord!

I am made all things to all men—

In City or Wilderness

Praising the crafts they profess

by Rudyard Kipling

A Child's Garden

Now there is nothing wrong with me

Except — I think it's called T.B.

And that is why I have to lay

Out in the garden all the day.

Our garden is not very wide

And cars go by on either side,

And make an angry-hooty noise

That rather startles little boys.

by Rudyard Kipling

The Explorer

"There's no sense in going further —

it's the edge of cultivation,"

So they said, and I believed it —

broke my land and sowed my crop —

Built my barns and strung my fences

in the little border station

Tucked away below the foothills

where the trails run out and stop.

by Rudyard Kipling

Chant-Pagan

Me that 'ave been what I've been —

Me that 'ave gone where I've gone —

Me that 'ave seen what I've seen —

'Ow can I ever take on

With awful old England again,

An' 'ouses both sides of the street,

And 'edges two sides of the lane,

And the parson an' gentry between,

by Rudyard Kipling

The Vampire

A fool there was and he made his prayer

(Even as you and I!)

To a rag and a bone and a hunk of hair

(We called her the woman who did not care)

But the fool he called her his lady fair

(Even as you and I!)

Oh, the years we waste and the tears we waste

And the work of our head and hand

by Rudyard Kipling

The Glory of the Garden

Our England is a garden that is full of stately views,

Of borders, beds and shrubberies and lawns and avenues,

With statues on the terraces and peacocks strutting by;

But the Glory of the Garden lies in more than meets the eye.

For where the thick laurels grow, along the thin red wall,

You will find the tool- and potting-sheds which are the heart of all;

The cold-frames and the hot-houses, the dungpits and the tanks,

The rollers, carts and drain-pipes, with the barrows and the planks.

by Rudyard Kipling

The Sons of Martha

The Sons of Mary seldom bother, for they have inherited that good part;

But the Sons of Martha favour their Mother of the careful soul and the troubled heart.

And because she lost her temper once, and because she was rude to the Lord her Guest,

Her Sons must wait upon Mary's Sons, world without end, reprieve, or rest.

It is their care in all the ages to take the buffet and cushion the shock.

It is their care that the gear engages; it is their care that the switches lock.

It is their care that the wheels run truly; it is their care to embark and entrain,

Tally, transport, and deliver duly the Sons of Mary by land and main.

by Rudyard Kipling

Arithmetic on the Frontier

A great and glorious thing it is

To learn, for seven years or so,

The Lord knows what of that and this,

Ere reckoned fit to face the foe —

The flying bullet down the Pass,

That whistles clear: "All flesh is grass."

Three hundred pounds per annum spent

On making brain and body meeter

by Rudyard Kipling

The Mine-Sweepers

Dawn off the Foreland — the young flood making

Jumbled and short and steep —

Black in the hollows and bright where it's breaking —

Awkward water to sweep.

"Mines reported in the fairway,

Warn all traffic and detain.

Sent up Unity, Claribel, Assyrian, Stormcock, and Golden Gain."

Noon off the Foreland — the first ebb making

by Rudyard Kipling

An American

The American Spirit speaks:

"If the Led Striker call it a strike,

Or the papers call it a war,

They know not much what I am like,

Nor what he is, my Avatar."

Through many roads, by me possessed,

He shambles forth in cosmic guise;

by Rudyard Kipling

Sappers

When the Waters were dried an' the Earth did appear,

("It's all one," says the Sapper),

The Lord He created the Engineer,

Her Majesty's Royal Engineer,

With the rank and pay of a Sapper!

When the Flood come along for an extra monsoon,

'Twas Noah constructed the first pontoon

by Rudyard Kipling

A Ballad of Burial

If down here I chance to die,

Solemnly I beg you take

All that is left of "I"

To the Hills for old sake's sake,

Pack me very thoroughly

In the ice that used to slake

Pegs I drank when I was dry —

This observe for old sake's sake.

by Rudyard Kipling