That REASON, PASSION, answer one great aim; Pope. 77 If IF you can keep your head when all about you 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 Hold on!' If you can talk with crowds and keep your virtue, With sixty seconds' worth of distance run, 78 Drake's Drum DRAKE he 's in his hammock an' a thousand mile away, (Capten, art tha sleepin' there below ?), Slung atween the round shot in Nombre Dios Bay, An' the shore-lights flashin', an' the night-tide dashin', Drake he was a Devon man, an' rüled the Devon seas, (Capten, art tha sleepin' there below ?), Rovin' tho' his death fell, he went wi' heart at ease, If the Dons sight Devon, I'll quit the port o' Heaven An' drum them up the Channel as we drumm'd them long ago.' Drake he's in his hammock till the great Armada's come, (Capten, art tha sleepin' there below ?), Slung atween the round shot, listenin' for the drum, An' dreamin' arl the time o' Plymouth Hoe. Call him on the deep sea, call him up the Sound, Call him when ye sail to meet the foe; Where the old trade 's plyin' an' the old flag flyin' They shall find him ware an' wakin', as they found him long ago! 79 Henry Newbolt. To-day (1914) FOR all we have and are, Once more we hear the word Comfort, content, delight- G 80. To face the naked days Through perils and dismays Though all we made depart, But iron sacrifice Of body, will, and soul. There is but one task for all For each one life to give. Who stands if Freedom fall? Rudyard Kipling. Death the Leveller THE glories of our blood and state Are shadows, not substantial things; There is no armour against Fate; Must tumble down, And in the dust be equal made With the poor crooked scythe and spade. Some men with swords may reap the field, And plant fresh laurels where they kill ; But their strong nerves at last must yield; They tame but one another still: Early or late They stoop to fate, And must give up their murmuring breath The garlands wither on your brow : See where the victor-victim bleeds. Your heads must come To the cold tomb : Only the actions of the just Smell sweet and blossom in their dust. 81 Ozymandias Shirley. I MET a traveller from an antique land Who said: Two vast and trunkless legs of stone 'My name is Ozymandias, king of kings: Shelley. EARTH, ocean, air, beloved brotherhood! With aught of natural piety to feel soul Your love, and recompense the boon with mine; |