Blessed be the English and all their ways and works.
Cursed be the Infidels, Hereticks, and Turks!
Amen, quo Jobson, but where I used to lie
Was neither Candle, Bell nor Book to curse my brethren by,
But a palm-tree in full bearing, bowing down, bowing down,
To a surf that drove unsparing at the brown, walled town,
Conches in a temple, oil-lamps in a dome,
And a low moon out of Africa said: This way home!
Blessed be the English and all that they profess.
Cursed be the Savages that prance in nakedness!
Amen, quo Jobson, but where I used to lie
Was neither shirt nor pantaloons to catch my brethren by:
But a well-wheel slowly creaking, going round, going round,
By a water-channel leaking over drowned, warm ground,
Parrots very busy in the trellised pepper-vine,
And a high sun over Asia shouting: Rise and shine!
Blessèd be the English and everything they own.
Cursed be the Infidels that bow to wood and stone!
Amen, quo Jobson, but where I used to lie
Was neither pew nor Gospelleer to save my brethren by:
But a desert stretched and stricken, left and right, left and right,
Where the piled mirages thicken under white-hot light,
A skull beneath a sand-hill and a viper coiled inside,
And a red wind out of Libya roaring: Run and hide!
Blessèd be the English and all they make or do.
Cursèd be the Hereticks who doubt that this is true!
Amen, quo Jobson, but where I mean to die
Is neither rule nor calliper to judge the matter by:
But Himalaya heavenward-heading, sheer and vast, sheer and vast,
In a million summits bedding on the last worlds past,
A certain sacred mountain where the scented cedars climb,
And, the feet of my Beloved hurrying back through Time!
Jobsons Amen
Rudyard
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