Rudyard Kipling (1865–1936). Verse: 1885–1918. 1922.
Heriots Ford
“W
The foe that you must fight, my lord.
“That rides as fast as I can ride?”
The shadow of your might, my lord.
He’s down and overpast, my lord.
You war against the sunset-glow,
The judgment follows fast, my lord!
King Joshua he is dead, my lord.
“I need an hour to repent!”
’Tis what our sister said, my lord.
You’re safe awhile with us, my lord.
“Nay, kill me ere my fear begins!”
We would not serve you thus, my lord.
Three little leagues away, my lord.
“Then mend the horses’ laggard pace!”
We need them for next day, my lord.
Our sister needed none, my lord.
You had no mind to face our swords,
And—where can cowards run, my lord?
’Twas thus our sister cried, my lord.
“I dare not die with none to shrive.”
But so our sister died, my lord.
It runnels forth afresh, my lord.
“Uphold me—for the flesh is weak.”
You ’ve finished with the Flesh, my lord!