Contents -BIBLIOGRAPHIC RECORD

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

The Press

THE SOLDIER may forget his Sword,

The Sailorman the Sea,

The Mason may forget the Word

And the Priest his Litany:

The Maid may forget both jewel and gem,

And the Bride her wedding-dress—

But the Jew shall forget Jerusalem

Ere we forget the Press!

Who once hath stood through the loaded hour

Ere, roaring like the gale,

The Harrild and the Hoe devour

Their league-long paper-bale,

And has lit his pipe in the morning calm

That follows the midnight stress—

He hath sold his heart to the old Black Art

We call the daily Press.

Who once hath dealt in the widest game

That all of a man can play,

No later love, no larger fame

Will lure him long away.

As the war-horse smelleth the battle afar,

The entered Soul, no less,

He saith: “Ha! Ha!” where the trumpets are

And the thunders of the Press!

Canst thou number the days that we fulfil,

Or the Times that we bring forth?

Canst thou send the lightnings to do thy will,

And cause them reign on earth?

Hast thou given a peacock goodly wings

To please his foolishness?

Sit down at the heart of men and things,

Companion of the Press!

The Pope may launch his Interdict,

The Union its decree,

But the bubble is blown and the bubble is pricked

By Us and such as We.

Remember the battle and stand aside

While Thrones and Powers confess

That King over all the children of pride

Is the Press—the Press—the Press!