Rudyard Kipling (1865–1936). Verse: 1885–1918. 1922.
An Astrologer’s Song
T
O look and behold
The Planets that love us
All harnessed in gold!
What chariots, what horses
Against us shall bide
While the Stars in their courses
Do fight on our side?
That are under the sun,
Are one with their fires,
As we also are one.
All matter, all spirit,
All fashion, all frame,
Receive and inherit
Their strength from the same.
All power save thine own
Their power in the highest
Is mightily shown.
Not less in the lowest
That power is made clear.
(Oh, man, if thou knowest,
What treasure is here!)
And we wonder for why.
But the blind planet knows
When her ruler is nigh;
And, attuned since Creation
To perfect accord,
She thrills in her station
And yearns to her Lord.
The springs are unbound—
The floods break their prison,
And ravin around.
No rampart withstands ’em,
Their fury will last,
Till the Sign that commands ’em
Sinks low or swings past.
O’er gulfs beyond thought,
Our portion is woven,
Our burden is brought.
Yet They that prepare it,
Whose Nature we share,
Make us who must bear it
Well able to bear.
We’ll not be afraid.
No Power can unmake us
Save that which has made:
Nor yet beyond reason
Or hope shall we fall—
All things have their season,
And Mercy crowns all!
The Eternal is King—
Up, heart, and be cheerful,
And lustily sing:—
What chariots, what horses,
Against us shall bide
While the Stars in their courses
Do fight on our side?