THE BUDDHA AT KAMAKURA

THE  BUDDHA  AT  KAMAKURA

O ye who tread the Narrow Way

By Tophet-flare to Judgment Day,

Be gentle when "the heathen" pray

To Buddha at Kamakura!

To him the Way, the Law, apart,

Whom Maya held beneath her heart,

Ananda's Lord, the Bodhisat,

The Buddha of Kamakura.

 

For though he neither burns nor sees,

Nor hears ye thank your Deities,

Ye have not sinned with such as these,

His children at Kamakura,

 

Yet spare us still the Western joke

When joss-sticks turn to scented smoke

The little sins of little folk

That worship at Kamakura -

 

The grey-robed, gay-sashed butterflies

That flit beneath the Master's eyes.

He is beyond the Mysteries

But loves them at Kamakura.

 

And whoso will, from Pride released,

Contemning neither creed nor priest,

May feel the Soul of all the East

About him at Kamakura.

 

Yea, every tale Ananda heard,

Of birth as fish or beast or bird,

While yet in lives the Master stirred,

The warm wind brings Kamakura.

Till drowsy eyelids seem to see

A-flower 'neath her golden htee

The Shwe-Dagon flare easterly

From Burmah to Kamakura,

 

And down the loaded air there comes

The thunder of Thibetan drums,

And droned - "Om mane padme hums" -

A world's-width from Kamakura.

 

Yet Brahmans rule Benares still,

Buddh-Gaya's ruins pit the hill,

And beef-fed zealots threaten ill

To Buddha and Kamakura.

A tourist-show, a legend told,

A rusting bulk of bronze and gold,

So much, and scarce so much, ye hold

The meaning of Kamakura?

 

But when the morning prayer is prayed,

Think, ere ye pass to strife and trade,

Is God in human image made

No nearer than Kamakura?

 

                                    Rudyard Kipling 1892

 

MERRY CHRISTMAS from MOON and ME

A VISIT FROM ST. NICHOLAS

A VISIT FROM ST. NICHOLAS

'Twas the night before Christmas, when all thro' the house,

Not a creature was stirring, not even a mouse;

 

The stockings were hung by the chimney with care,

In hopes that St. Nicholas soon would be there;

The children were nestled all snug in their beds,

While visions of sugar plums danc'd in their heads,

 

And Mama in her 'kerchief, and I in my cap,

Had just settled our brains for a long winter's nap—

 

When out on the lawn there arose such a clatter,

I sprang from the bed to see what was the matter.

 

Away to the window I flew like a flash,

Tore open the shutters, and threw up the sash.

 

The moon on the breast of the new fallen snow,

Gave the lustre of mid-day to objects below;

 

When, what to my wondering eyes should appear,

But a miniature sleigh, and eight tiny rein-deer,

 

With a little old driver, so lively and quick,

I knew in a moment it must be St. Nick.

 

More rapid than eagles his coursers they came,

And he whistled, and shouted, and call'd them by name:

 

"Now! Dasher, now! Dancer, now! Prancer, and Vixen,

"On! Comet, on! Cupid, on! Dunder and Blixem;

"To the top of the porch! to the top of the wall!

"Now dash away! dash away! dash away all!"

 

As dry leaves before the wild hurricane fly,

When they meet with an obstacle, mount to the sky;

 

So up to the house-top the coursers they flew,

With the sleigh full of Toys—and St. Nicholas too:

 

And then in a twinkling, I heard on the roof

The prancing and pawing of each little hoof.

 

As I drew in my head, and was turning around,

Down the chimney St. Nicholas came with a bound:

 

He was dress'd all in fur, from his head to his foot,

And his clothes were all tarnish'd with ashes and soot;

 

A bundle of toys was flung on his back,

And he look'd like a peddler just opening his pack:

 

His eyes—how they twinkled! his dimples how merry,

His cheeks were like roses, his nose like a cherry;

 

His droll little mouth was drawn up like a bow.

And the beard of his chin was as white as the snow;

 

The stump of a pipe he held tight in his teeth,

And the smoke it encircled his head like a wreath.

 

He had a broad face, and a little round belly

That shook when he laugh'd, like a bowl full of jelly:

 

He was chubby and plump, a right jolly old elf,

And I laugh'd when I saw him in spite of myself;

 

A wink of his eye and a twist of his head

Soon gave me to know I had nothing to dread.

 

He spoke not a word, but went straight to his work,

And fill'd all the stockings; then turn'd with a jerk,

 

And laying his finger aside of his nose

And giving a nod, up the chimney he rose.

 

He sprung to his sleigh, to his team gave a whistle,

And away they all flew, like the down of a thistle:

 

But I heard him exclaim, ere he drove out of sight—

Happy Christmas to all, and to all a good night.

 

                                         Henry Livingston Jr.

A COUNTING-OUT SONG

A  COUNTING-OUT  SONG

“ AN  ENGLISH  SCHOOL “

What is the song the children sing,

When doorway lilacs bloom in Spring,

And the Schools are loosed, and the games are played

That were deadly earnest when Earth was made?

Hear them chattering, shrill and hard,

After dinner-time, out in the yard,

As the sides are chosen and all submit

To the chance of the lot that shall make them "It."

(Singing) "Eenee, Meenee, Mainee, Mo!

Catch a nigger by the toe!

(If he hollers let him go!)

Eenee, Meenee. Mainee, Mo!

You-are-It!"

Eenee, Meenee, Mainee, and Mo

Were the First Big Four of the Long Ago,

When the Pole of the Earth sloped thirty degrees,

And Central Europe began to freeze,

And they needed Ambassadors staunch and stark

To steady the Tribes in the gathering dark:

But the frost was fierce and flesh was frail,

So they launched a Magic that could not fail.

(Singing) "Eenee, Meenee, Mainee, Mo!

Hear the wolves across the snow!

Some one has to kill 'em-so

Eenee, Meenee, Mainee, Mo

Make-you-It!"

Slowly the Glacial Epoch passed,

Central Europe thawed out at last;

And, under the slush of the melting snows

The first dim shapes of the Nations rose.

Rome, Britannia, Belgium, Gaul-

Flood and avalanche fathered them all;

And the First Big Four, as they watched the mess,

Pitied Man in his helplessness.

(Singing) "Eenee, Meenee, Mainee, Mo!

Trouble starts When Nations grow,

Some one has to stop it-so

Eenee, Meenee, Mainee, Mo!

Make-you-It!"

Thus it happened, but none can tell

What was the Power behind the spell-

Fear, or Duty, or Pride, or Faith-

That sent men shuddering out to death-

To cold and watching, and, worse than these,

Work, more work, when they looked for ease-

To the days discomfort, the nights despair,

In the hope of a prize that they never could share,

(Singing) "Eenee, Meenee, Mainee, Mo!

Man is born to Toil and Woe.

One will cure another-So

Eenee, Meenee, Mainee, Mo

Make-you-It!"

Once and again, as the Ice went North

The grass crept up to the Firth of Forth.

Once and again, as the Ice came South

The glaciers ground over Lossiemouth.

But, grass or glacier, cold or hot,

The men went out who would rather not,

And fought with the Tiger, the Pig and the Ape,

To hammer the world into decent shape.

(Singing) "Eenee, Meenee, Mainee, Mo!

What's the use of doing so?

Ask the Gods, for we don't know;

But Eenee, Meenee, Mainee, Mo

Make-us-It!"

Nothing is left of that terrible rune

But a tag of gibberish tacked to a tune

That ends the waiting and settles the claims

Of children arguing over their games;

For never yet has a boy been found

To shirk his turn when the turn came round;

Nor even a girl has been known to say

"If you laugh at me I shan't play."

For-- "Eenee, Meenee, Mainee, Mo,

(Don't you let the grown-ups know!)

You may hate it ever so,

But if you're chose you're bound to go,

When Eenee, Meenee, Mainee, Mo

Make-you-It!"

                         Rudyard  Kipling

THE LAND OF BEYOND

THE  LAND  OF  BEYOND

Have ever you heard of the Land of Beyond,

That dreams at the gates of the day?

Alluring it lies at the skirts of the skies,

And ever so far away;

Alluring it calls: O ye the yoke galls,

And ye of the trail overfond,

With saddle and pack, by paddle and track,

Let's go to the Land of Beyond!

 

Have ever you stood where the silences brood,

And vast the horizons begin,

At the dawn of the day to behold far away

The goal you would strive for and win?

Yet ah! in the night when you gain to the height,

With the vast pool of heaven star-spawned,

Afar and agleam, like a valley of dream,

Still mocks you a Land of Beyond.

 

Thank God! there is always a Land of Beyond

For us who are true to the trail;

A vision to seek, a beckoning peak,

A farness that never will fail;

A pride in our soul that mocks at a goal,

A manhood that irks at a bond,

And try how we will, unattainable still,

Behold it, our Land of Beyond!

                            Robert  Service

SOLDIER AN' SAILOR TOO

“ SOLDIER  AN’  SAILOR  TOO “

As I was spittin' into the Ditch aboard o' the Crocodile,

I seed a man on a man-o'-war got up in the Reg'lars' style.

'E was scrapin' the paint from off of 'er plates, an' I sez to 'im,

" 'Oo are you? "

Sez 'e, "I'm a Jolly - 'Er Majesty's Jolly-soldier an' sailor too!"

Now 'is work begins by Gawd knows when, and 'is work is never through;

'E isn't one o' the reg'lar Line, nor 'e isn't one of the crew.

'E's a kind of a giddy harumfrodite - soldier an' sailor too!

 

An' after I met 'im all over the world, a-doin' all kinds of things,

Like landin' 'isself with a Gatlin' gun to talk to them 'eathen kings;

'E sleeps in an 'ammick instead of a cot, an' 'e drills with the deck on a slew,

An' 'e sweats like a Jolly - 'Er Majesty's Jolly - soldier an' sailor too!

For there isn't a job on the top o' the earth the beggar don't know, nor do -

You can leave 'im at night on a bald man's 'ead, to paddle 'is own canoe -

'E's a sort of a bloomin' cosmopolouse - soldier an' sailor too.

 

We've fought 'em in trooper, we've fought 'em in dock,

and drunk with 'em in betweens,

When they called us the seasick scull'ry-maids, an' we called 'em the Ass Marines;

But, when we was down for a double fatigue, from Woolwich to Bernardmyo,

We sent for the Jollies - 'Er Majesty's Jollies - soldier an' sailor too!

They think for 'emselves, an' they steal for 'emselves,

and they never ask what's to do,

But they're camped an' fed an' they're up an' fed before our bugle's blew.

Ho! they ain't no limpin' procrastitutes - soldier an' sailor too.

 

You may say we are fond of an 'arness-cut, or 'ootin' in barrick-yards,

Or startin' a Board School mutiny along o' the Onion Guards;

But once in a while we can finish in style for the ends of the earth to view,

The same as the Jollies - 'Er Majesty's Jollies - soldier an' sailor too!

They come of our lot, they was brothers to us;

they was beggars we'd met an' knew;

Yes, barrin' an inch in the chest an' the arm, they was doubles o' me an' you;

For they weren't no special chrysanthemums - soldier an' sailor too!

 

To take your chance in the thick of a rush, with firing all about,

Is nothing so bad when you've cover to 'and, an' leave an' likin' to shout;

But to stand an' be still to the Birken'ead drill

is a damn tough bullet to chew,

An' they done it, the Jollies - 'Er Majesty's Jollies - soldier an' sailor too!

Their work was done when it 'adn't begun; they was younger nor me an' you;

Their choice it was plain between drownin' in 'eaps

an' bein' mopped by the screw,

So they stood an' was still to the Birken'ead drill, soldier an' sailor too!

 

We're most of us liars, we're 'arf of us thieves,

an' the rest are as rank as can be,

But once in a while we can finish in style

(which I 'ope it won't 'appen to me).

But it makes you think better o' you an' your friends,

an' the work you may 'ave to do,

When you think o' the sinkin' Victorier's Jollies - soldier an' sailor too!

Now there isn't no room for to say ye don't know -

they 'ave proved it plain and true -

That whether it's Widow, or whether it's ship, Victorier's work is to do,

An' they done it, the Jollies - 'Er Majesty's Jollies - soldier an' sailor too!

 

                               Rudyard Kipling

WE AND THEY

WE  AND  THEY

“ A FRIEND OF THE FAMILY “

Father and Mother, and Me,

Sister and Auntie say

All the people like us are We,

And every one else is They.

And They live over the sea,

While We live over the way,

But-would you believe it? - They look upon We

As only a sort of They!

 

We eat pork and beef

With cow-horn-handled knives.

They who gobble Their rice off a leaf,

Are horrified out of Their lives;

While they who live up a tree,

And feast on grubs and clay,

(Isn't it scandalous? ) look upon We

As a simply disgusting They!

 

We shoot birds with a gun.

They stick lions with spears.

Their full-dress is un-.

We dress up to Our ears.

They like Their friends for tea.

We like Our friends to stay;

And, after all that, They look upon We

As an utterly ignorant They!

 

We eat kitcheny food.

We have doors that latch.

They drink milk or blood,

Under an open thatch.

We have Doctors to fee.

They have Wizards to pay.

And (impudent heathen!) They look upon We

As a quite impossible They!

All good people agree,

And all good people say,

All nice people, like Us, are We

And every one else is They:

But if you cross over the sea,

Instead of over the way,

You may end by (think of it!) looking on We

As only a sort of They!

 

                              Rudyard Kipling