Rudyard Kipling (angolul)

‘If I have given you delight
by aught that I have done.
Let me lie quiet in that night
which shall be yours anon:
And for the little, little span
the dead are borne in mind,
seek not to question other than,
the books I leave behind.’

THE MOTHER LODGE

There was Rundle, Station Master,
An’ Beazeley of the Rail,
An’ ‘Ackman, Commissariat,
An’ Donkin’ o’ the Jail;
An’ Blake, Conductor-Sargent,
Our Master twice was ‘e,
With ‘im that kept the Europe-shop,
Old Framjee Eduljee.

Outside — „Sergeant! Sir! Salute! Salaam!”
Inside — „Brother”, an’ it doesn’t do no ‘arm.
We met upon the Level an’ we parted on the Square,
An’ I was Junior Deacon in my Mother-Lodge out
there!

We’d Bola Nath, Accountant,
An’ Saul the Aden Jew,
An’ Din Mohammed, draughtsman
Of the Survey Office too;
There was Babu Chuckerbutty,
An’ Amir Singh the Sikh,
An’ Castro from the fittin’-sheds,
The Roman Catholick!
We ‘adn’t good regalia,
An’ our Lodge was old an’ bare,
But we knew the Ancient Landmarks,
An’ we kep’ ’em to a hair;
An’ lookin’ on it backwards
It often strikes me thus,
There ain’t such things as infidels,
Excep’, per’aps, it’s us.
For monthly, after Labour,
We’d all sit down and smoke
(We dursn’t give no banquits,
Lest a Brother’s caste were broke),
An’ man on man got talkin’
Religion an’ the rest,
An’ every man comparin’
Of the God ‘e knew the best.
So man on man got talkin’,
An’ not a Brother stirred
Till mornin’ waked the parrots
An’ that dam’ brain-fever-bird;
We’d say ’twas ‘ighly curious,
An’ we’d all ride ‘ome to bed,
With Mo’ammed, God, an’ Shiva
Changin’ pickets in our ‘ead.
Full oft on Guv’ment service
This rovin’ foot ‘ath pressed,
An’ bore fraternal greetin’s
To the Lodges east an’ west,
Accordin’ as commanded
From Kohat to Singapore,
But I wish that I might see them
In my Mother-Lodge once more!
I wish that I might see them,
My Brethren black an’ brown,
With the trichies smellin’ pleasant
An’ the hog-darn passin’ down; [Cigar-lighter.]
An’ the old khansamah snorin’ [Butler.]
On the bottle-khana floor, [Pantry.]
Like a Master in good standing
With my Mother-Lodge once more!
Outside — „Sergeant! Sir! Salute! Salaam!”
Inside — „Brother”, an’ it doesn’t do no ‘arm.
We met upon the Level an’ we parted on the Square,
An’ I was Junior Deacon in my Mother-Lodge out
there!

JUBAL AND TUBAL CAIN

Jubal sang of the wrath of God
And the curse of thistle and thorn,
But Tubal got him a pointed rod
And scrambled the earth for corn.
Old – old as that early mould,
Young as the sprouting grain-
Yearly green is the strife between

Jubal and Tubal Cain!

Jubal sang of the new found sea,
And the love that its waves divide:
But Tubal hollowed a fallen tree
And passed to the farther side.
Black – black as the hurricane wrack,
Salt as the under main
Bitter and cold is the hate they hold –

Jubal and Tubal Cain!

Jubal sang of the golden years,
When wars and wounds shall cease;
But Tubal fashioned the hand-flung spears
And showed his neighbors peace.
New – new as the nine-point-two,
Older than Lamech’s slain
Roaring and loud is the feud avowed, ‘twixt

Jubal and Tubal Cain!

Jubal sang of the cliffs that bar
And the peaks that none may crown
But Tubal clambered by jut and scar,
And there he builded a town.
High – high as the snowsheds lie,
Low as the culverts drain
Wherever they be, they can never agree-

Jubal and Tubal Cain!

King Solomon’s Banquet

„Once in so often, ” King Solomon said,
Watching his quarrymen drill the stone,
„We will club our garlic and wine and bread
And banquet together beneath my Throne.
And all the Brethren shall come to that mess
As Fellow-Craftsmen – no more no less.

„Send a swift shallop to Hiram of Tyre,
Felling and floating our beautiful trees,
Say that the Brethren and I desire
Talk with our Brethren who use the seas.
And we shall be happy to meet them at mess
As Fellow-Craftsmen – no more no less.

„Carry this message to Hiram Abif –
Excellent Master of forge and mine :-
I and the Brethren would like it if
He and the Brethren will come to dine,
(Garments from Bozrah or morning dress)
As Fellow-Craftsmen – no more no less.

God gave the Hyssop and cedar their place –
Also the Bramble, the Fig and the Thorn –
But that is no reason to black a man’s face
Because he is not what he wasn’t been born,
And, as touching the Temple, I hold and profess
We are Fellow Craftsmen – no more and no less.

So it was ordered and so it was done,
And the hewers of wood and the Masons of Mark
With foc’sle hands of the Sidon run
And Navy Lords from the Royal Ark,
Came and sat down and were merry at mess
As Fellow Craftsmen – no more and no less.

The quarries are hotter than Hyram’s forge,
No-one is safe from the dog-whip’s reach.
It’s mostly snowing up Lebanon gorge,
And it’s always blowing off Joppa beach;
But once in so often, the messenger brings
Solomon’s mandate; „Forget these things!
Brother to Beggars and Fellow to Kings
Companion of Princes – forget these things!
Fellow Craftsmen, forget these things!”

THE PALACE

When I was a King and a Mason,
A Master proven and skilled,
I cleared me ground for a Palace
Such as a King should build.
I decreed and dug down to my levels;
Presently, under the silt,
I came on the wreck of a Palace,
Such as a King had built.

There was no worth in the fashion,
There was no wit in the plan–
Hither and thither, aimless,
The ruined footing ran–
Masonry, brute, mishandled,
But carven on every stone:
„After me cometh a Builder,
Tell him. I, too, have known.”

Swift to my use in my trenches,
Where my well planned ground-works grew,
I tumbled his quoins and his ashlars,
And cut and reset them anew.
Lime I milled of his marbles:
Burned it, slaked it, and spread,
Taking and leaving at pleasure
The gifts of the humble dead.

Yet I despised not nor gloried;
Yet, as we wrench them apart,
I read in the razed foundations
The heart of that builder’s heart.
As he had risen and pleaded,
So did I understand
The form of the dream he had followed
In the face of the thing he had planned.

When I was a King and a Mason–
In the open noon of my pride,
They sent me a Word from the Darkness–
They whispered and called me aside,
They said: „The end is forbidden.”
They said: „Thy use is fulfilled.
Thy Palace shall stand as that other’s–
The spoil of a King who shall build.”

I called my men from my trenches,
My quarries, my wharves and my sheers.
All I had wrought I abandoned
To the faith of the faithless years.
Only I cut on the timber–
Only I carved on the stone:
„After me cometh a Builder,
Tell him, I, too, have known.”

My New-Cut Ashler

My New-Cut ashlar takes the light
Where crimson-blank the windows flare.
By my own work before the night,
Great Overseer, I make my prayer.

If there be good in that I wrought
Thy Hand compelled it, Master, Thine–
Where I have failed to meet Thy Thought
I know, through Thee, the blame was mine.

The depth and dream of my desire,
The bitter paths wherein I stray–
Thou knowest Who hast made the Fire,
Thou knowest Who hast made the Clay.

Who, lest all thought of Eden fade,
Bring’st Eden to the craftsman’s brain–
Godlike to muse o’er his own Trade
And manlike stand with God again!

One stone the more swings into place
In that dread Temple of Thy worth.
It is enough that, through Thy Grace,
I saw nought common on Thy Earth.

Take not that vision from my ken–
Oh whatsoe’er may spoil or speed.
Help me to need no aid from men
That I may help such men as need!

Natural Theology

PRIMITIVE

I ATE my fill of a whale that died
And stranded after a month at sea.  .  .  .
There is a pain in my inside.
Why have the Gods afflicted me?
Ow! I am purged till I am a wraith!
Wow! I am sick till I cannot see!
What is the sense of Religion and Faith?
Look how the Gods have afflicted me! 

PAGAN

How can the skin of rat or mouse hold
Anything more than a harmless flea?  .  .  .
The burning plague has taken my household.
Why have my Gods afflicted me?
All my kith and kin are deceased,
Though they were as good as good could be,
I will out and batter the family priest,
Because my Gods have afflicted me!

MEDIÆVAL

My privy and well drain into each other
After the custom of Christendie.  .  .  .
Fevers and fluxes are wasting my mother.
Why has the Lord afflicted me?
The Saints are helpless for all I offer—
So are the clergy I used to fee.
Henceforward I keep my cash in my coffer,
Because the Lord has afflicted me.

MATERIAL

I run eight hundred hens to the acre
They die by dozens mysteriously.
I am more than doubtful concerning my Maker.
Why has the Lord afflicted me?
What a return for all my endeavour
Not to mention the L.S.D!
I am an atheist now and for ever,
Because this God has afflicted me!

PROGRESSIVE

Money spent on an Army or Fleet
Is homicidal lunacy.  .  .  .
My son has been killed in the Mons retreat,
Why is the Lord aficting me?
Why are murder, pillage and arson
And rape allowed by the Deity?
I will write to the Times, deriding our parson
Because my God has afflicted me.

CHORUS

We had a kettle: we let it leak:
Our not repairing it made it worse.
We haven’t had any tea for a week.  .  .  .
The bottom is out of the Universe!

CONCLUSION

This was none of the good Lord’s pleasure,
For the Spirit He breathed in Man is free;
But what comes after is measure for measure,
And not a God that afflicteth thee.

As was the sowing so the reaping
Is now and evermore shall be.
Thou art delivered to thine own keeping
Only Thyself hath afflicted thee!

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 imposters 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 wornout 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 breath 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!

L’ ENVOI to „Life’s Handicap”

My new-cut ashlar takes the light
Where crimson-blank the windows flare;
By my own work, before the night,
Great Overseer I make my prayer.

If there be good in that I wrought,
Thy hand compelled it, Master, Thine;
Where I have failed to meet Thy thought
I know, through Thee, the blame is mine.

One instant’s toil to Thee denied
Stands all Eternity’s offence,
Of that I did with Thee to guide
To Thee, through Thee, be excellence.

Who, lest all thought of Eden fade,
Bring’st Eden to the craftsman’s brain,
Godlike to muse o’er his own trade
And Manlike stand with God again.

The depth and dream of my desire,
The bitter paths wherein I stray,
Thou knowest Who hast made the Fire,
Thou knowest Who hast made the Clay!

One stone the more swings to her place
In that dread Temple of Thy Worth —
It is enough that through Thy grace
I saw naught common on Thy earth.

Take not that vision from my ken;
Oh whatsoe’er may spoil or speed,
Help me to need no aid from men
That I may help such men as need!

THE PALACE  (1902 )

When I was a King and a Mason — a Master proven and
skilled —
I cleared me ground for a Palace such as a King
should build.
I decreed and dug down to my levels. Presently,
under the silt,
I came on the wreck of a Palace such as a King had
built.

There was no worth in the fashion — there was no
wit in the plan —
Hither and thither, aimless, the ruined footings ran
Masonry, brute, mishandled, but carven on every
stone:
„After me cometh a Builder. Tell him, I too have
known.”

Swift to my use in my trenches, where my
well-planned ground-works grew,
I tumbled his quoins and his ashlars, and cut and
reset them anew.
Lime I milled of his marbles; burned it, slacked it,
and spread;
Taking and leaving at pleasure the gifts of the
humble dead.

Yet I despised not nor gloried; yet, as we wrenched
them apart,
I read in the razed foundations the heart of that
builder’s heart.
As he had risen and pleaded, so did I understand
The form of the dream he had followed in the face of
the thing he had planned.

* * * * *

When I was a King and a Mason — in the open noon of
my pride,
They sent me a Word from the Darkness. They
whispered and called me aside.
They said — „The end is forbidden.” They said —
„Thy use is fulfilled.
„Thy Palace shall stand as that other’s — the spoil
of a King who shall
build.”

I called my men from my trenches, my quarries, my
wharves, and my sheers.
All I had wrought I abandoned to the faith of the
faithless years.
Only I cut on the timber — only I carved on the
stone:
„AfterT me cometh a BuilderT. Tell him, I too have
known!”

BANQUET NIGHT

„Once in so often,” King Solomon said,
Watching his quarrymen drill the stone,
„We will club our garlic and wine and bread
And banquet together beneath my throne.
And all the Brethren shall come to that mess
As Fellow Craftsmen–no more and no less.

„Send a swift shallop to Hiram of Tyre,
Felling and floating our beautiful trees,
Say that the brethren and I desire
Talk with our Brethren who use the seas.
And we shall be happy to meet them at mess
As Fellow Craftsmen–no more and no less.

„Carry this message to Hiram Abif–
Excellent Master of forge and mine:
I and the Brethren would like it if
He and the Brethren will come to dine
(Garments from Bozrah or morning-dress)
As Fellow Craftsmen–no more and no less.

„God gave the Hyssop and Cedar their place–
Also the Bramble, the Fig and the Thorn–
But that is no reason to black a man’s Face
Because he is not what he hasn’t been born.
And, as touching the Temple, I hold and Profess
We are Fellow Craftsmen–no more no less.”
So it was ordered and so it was done,
And the hewers of wood and the Masons of Mark
With foc’sle hands of the Sidon run
And Navy Lords from the Royal Ark,
Came and sat down and were merry at mess
As Fellow Craftsmen–no more and no less.

The Quarries are hotter than Hiram’s forge,
No one is safe from the dog-whips’ reach.
It’s mostly snowing up Lebanon gorge,
And it’s always blowing off Joppa beach;
But once in so often, the messenger brings
Solomon’s mandate: „Forget these things!
Brother to Beggars and Fellow to Kings,
Companion of Princes-forget these things!
Fellow Craftsman, forget these things!”