Songs from Books Part 16

Father in Heaven who lovest all, Oh help Thy children when they call; That they may build from age to age, An undefiled 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!_ Pa.s.s 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 d.a.m.ned 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.