Rudyard Kipling (1865–1936). Verse: 1885–1918. 1922.

Jobson’s Amen

“BLESSÈD be the English and all their ways and works.

Cursèd 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!’”

“Blessèd be the English and all that they profess.

Cursèd 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.

Cursèd 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 world’s past—

A certain sacred mountain where the scented cedars climb,

And—the feet of my Beloved hurrying back through Time!”