Complete Works of Rudyard Kipling (Illustrated) (1060 page)

Buy a pup and your money will buy
Love unflinching that cannot lie —
Perfect passion and worship fed
By a kick in the ribs or a pat on the head.
Nevertheless it is hardly fair
To risk your heart for a dog to tear.

When the fourteen years which Nature permits
Are closing in asthma, or tumour, or fits,
And the vet’s unspoken prescription runs
To 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,
With its whimper of welcome, is stilled (how still!)
When the spirit hat answered your every mood
Is 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 Prairie

I see the grass shake in the sun for leagues on either hand,
I see a river loop and run about a treeless land —
An empty plain, a steely pond, a distance diamond-clear,
And low blue naked hills beyond. And what is that to fear?”

“Go softly by that river-side or, when you would depart,
You’ll find its every winding tied and knotted round your heart.
Be wary as the seasons pass, or you may ne’er outrun
The wind that sets that yellowed grass a-shiver ‘neath the Sun.”

I hear the summer storm outblown — the drip of the grateful wheat.
I hear the hard trail telephone a far-off horse’s feet.
I hear the horns of Autumn blow to the wild-fowl overhead;
And I hear the hush before the snow. And what is that to dread?”

“Take heed what spell the lightning weaves — what charm the echoes shape —
Or, bound among a million sheaves, your soul shall not escape.
Bar home the door of summer nights lest those high planets drown
The memory of near delights in all the longed-for town.”

“What need have I to long or fear? Now, friendly, I behold
My faithful seasons robe the year in silver and in gold.
Now I possess and am possessed of the land where I would be,
And the curve of half Earth’s generous breast shall soothe and ravish me!”

The Prayer

Kim

My brother kneels, so saith Kabir,
To stone and brass in heathen wise,
But in my brother’s voice I hear
My own unanswered agonies.
His God is as his fates assign,
His prayer is all the world’s — and mine.

The Prayer of Miriam Cohen

Enlarged From “Many Inventions”

            From the wheel and the drift of Things
            Deliver us, Good Lord,
            And we will face the wrath of Kings,
            The faggot and the sword!

            Lay not thy Works before our eyes
            Nor vex us with thy Wars,
            Lest we should feel the straining skies
            O’ertrod by trampling stars.

            Hold us secure behind the gates
            Of saving flesh and bone,
            Lest we should dream what Dream awaits
            The Soul escaped alone.

            Thy Path, thy Purposes conceal
             From our beleaguered realm
             Lest any shattering whisper steal
             Upon us and o’erwhelm.

             A veil ‘twixt us and Thee, Good Lord,
             A veil ‘twixt us and Thee —
             Lest we should hear too clear, too clear,
             And unto madness see!

Prelude

(to Departmental Ditties)
I have eaten your bread and salt.
I have drunk your water and wine.
In deaths ye died I have watched beside,
And the lives ye led were mine.

Was there aught that I did not share
In vigil or toil or ease, —
One joy or woe that I did not know,
Dear hearts across the seas?

I have written the tale of our life
For a sheltered people’s mirth,
In jesting guise — but ye are wise,
And ye know what the jest is worth.

A Preface

From “Land and Sea Tales”(1919-23)
To all to whom this little book may come —
   Health for yourselves and those you hold most dear!
Content abroad, and happiness at home,
   And — one grand Secret in your private ear: —
  
Nations have passed away and left no traces,
And History gives the naked cause of it —
   One single, simple reason in all cases;
They fell because their peoples were not fit.

Now, though your Body be mis-shapen, blind,
  Lame, feverish, lacking substance, power or skill,
Certain it is that men can school the Mind
  To school the sickliest Body, to her will —
  As many have done, whose glory blazes still
Like mighty flames in meanest lanterns lit:
  Wherefore, we pray the crippled, weak and ill —
Be fit — be fit! In mind at first be fit!

And, though your Spirit seem uncouth or small,
  Stubborn as clay or shifting as the sand,
Strengthen the Body, and the Body shall
  Strengthen the Spirit till she take command;
  As a bold rider brings his horse in hand
At the tall fence, with voice and heel and bit,
  And leaps while all the field are at a stand.
Be fit — be fit! In body next be fit!

    
Nothing on earth — no Arts, no Gifts, no Graces —
       No Fame, no Wealth — outweighs the wont of it.
     This is the Law which every law embraces —
       Be fit — be fit! In mind and body be fit!

The even heart that seldom slurs its beat —
  The cool head weighing what that heart desires —
The measuring eye that guides the hands and feet —
  The Soul unbroken when the Body tires —
  These are the things our weary world requires
Far more than superfluities of wit;
  Wherefore we pray you, sons of generous sires,
Be fit — be fit! For Honour’s sake be fit.

    
There is one lesson at all Times and Places —
       One changeless Truth on all things changing writ,
     For boys and girls, men, women, nations, races —
       Be fit — be fit! And once again, be fit!

The Press

“The Village That Voted the Earth Was Flat” —
          A Diversity of Creatures

The Soldier may forget his Sword,
 The Sailorman the Sea,
The Mason may forget the Word
 And the Priest his Litany:
The Maid may forget both jewel and gem,
 And the Bride her wedding-dress —
But the Jew shall forget Jerusalem
 Ere we forget the Press!

Who once hath stood through the loaded hour
 Ere, roaring like the gale,
The Harrild and the Hoe devour
 Their league-long paper-bale,
And has lit his pipe in the morning calm
 That follows the midnight stress —
He hath sold his heart to the old Black Art
 We call the daily Press.

Who once hath dealt in the widest game
 That all of a man can play,
No later love, no larger fame
 Will lure him long away.
As the war-horse snuffeth the battle afar,
  The entered Soul, no less,
He saith: “Ha! Ha!” where the trumpets are
  And the thunders of the Press!

Canst thou number the days that we fulfill,
 Or the Times that we bring forth?
Canst thou send the lightnings to do thy will,
 And cause them reign on earth?
Hast thou given a peacock goodly wings,
 To please his foolishness?
Sit down at the heart of men and things,
 Companion of the Press!

The Pope may launch his Interdict,
 The Union its decree,
But the bubble is blown and the bubble is pricked
 By Us and such as We.
Remember the battle and stand aside
 While Thrones and Powers confess
That King over all the children of pride
 Is the Press — the Press — the Press!

The Pro-Consuls

The overfaithful sword returns the user
His heart’s desire at price of his heart’s blood.
The clamour of the arrogant accuser
Wastes that one hour we needed to make good.
This was foretold of old at our outgoing;
This we accepted who have squandered, knowing,
The strength and glory of our reputations,
At the day’s need, as it were dross, to guard
The tender and new-dedicate foundations
Against the sea we fear — not man’s award.

They that dig foundations deep,
  Fit for realms to rise upon,
Little honour do they reap
  Of their generation,
Any more than mountains gain
Stature till we reach the plain.

With noveil before their face
  Such as shroud or sceptre lend —
Daily in the market-place,
  Of one height to foe and friend —
They must cheapen self to find
Ends uncheapened for mankind.

Through the night when hirelings rest,
  Sleepless they arise, alone,
The unsleeping arch to test
  And the o’er-trusted corner-stone,
‘Gainst the need, they know, that lies
Hid behind the centuries.

Not by lust of praise or show
  Not by Peace herself betrayed —
Peace herself must they forego
  Till that peace be fitly made;
And in single strength uphold
Wearier hands and hearts acold.

On the stage their act hath framed
  For thy sports, O Liberty!
Doubted are they, and defamed
  By the tongues their act set free,
While they quicken, tend and raise
Power that must their power displace.

Lesser men feign greater goals,
  Failing whereof they may sit
Scholarly to judge the souls
  That go down into the pit,
And, despite its certain clay,
Heave a new world towards the day.

These
at labour make no sign,
  More than planets, tides or years
Which discover God’s design,
  Not our hopes and not our fears;
Nor in aught they gain or lose
Seek a triumph or excuse.

For, so the Ark be borne to Zion, who
Heeds how they perished or were paid that bore it?
For, so the Shrine abide, what shame — what pride —
If we, the priests, were bound or crowned before it?

The Prodigal Son

(Western version) from
Kim
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 rest 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!