The Seven Seas - Rudyard Kipling

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the sake of – well, a kiss – I tak' 'em down below.

      That minds me of our Viscount loon – Sir Kenneth's kin – the chap

      Wi' russia leather tennis-shoon an' spar-decked yachtin'-cap.

      I showed him round last week, o'er all – an' at the last says he:

      "Mister McAndrews, don't you think steam spoils romance at sea?"

      Damned ijjit! I'd been doon that morn to see what ailed the throws,

      Manholin', on my back – the cranks three inches from my nose.

      Romance! Those first-class passengers they like it very well,

      Printed an' bound in little books; but why don't poets tell?

      I'm sick of all their quirks an' turns – the loves an' doves they dream —

      Lord, send a man like Robbie Burns to sing the Song o' Steam!

      To match wi' Scotia's noblest speech yon orchestra sublime

      Whaurto – uplifted like the Just – the tail-rods mark the time.

      The crank-throws give the double-bass; the feed-pump sobs an' heaves:

      An' now the main eccentrics start their quarrel on the sheaves.

      Her time, her own appointed time, the rocking link-head bides,

      Till – hear that note? – the rod's return whings glimmerin' through the guides.

      They're all awa'! True beat, full power, the clangin' chorus goes

      Clear to the tunnel where they sit, my purrin' dynamoes.

      Interdependence absolute, foreseen, ordained, decreed,

      To work, Ye'll note, at any tilt an' every rate o' speed.

      Fra' skylight-lift to furnace-bars, backed, bolted, braced an' stayed,

      An' singin' like the Mornin' Stars for joy that they are made;

      While, out o' touch o' vanity, the sweatin' thrust-block says:

      "Not unto us the praise, or man – not unto us the praise!"

      Now, a' together, hear them lift their lesson – theirs an' mine:

      "Law, Orrder, Duty an' Restraint, Obedience, Discipline!"

      Mill, forge an' try-pit taught them that when roarin' they arose,

      An' whiles I wonder if a soul was gied them wi' the blows.

      Oh for a man to weld it then, in one trip-hammer strain,

      Till even first-class passengers could tell the meanin' plain!

      But no one cares except mysel' that serve an' understand

      My seven thousand horse-power here. Eh, Lord! They're grand – they're grand!

      Uplift am I? When first in store the new-made beasties stood,

      Were Ye cast down that breathed the Word declarin' all things good?

      Not so! O' that warld-liftin' joy no after-fall could vex,

      Ye've left a glimmer still to cheer the Man – the Arrtifex!

      That holds, in spite o' knock and scale, o' friction, waste an' slip,

      An' by that light – now, mark my word – we'll build the Perfect Ship.

      I'll never last to judge her lines or take her curve – not I.

      But I ha' lived an' I ha' worked. All thanks to Thee, Most High!

      An' I ha' done what I ha' done – judge Thou if ill or well —

      Always Thy Grace preventin' me…

      Losh! Yon's the "Stand by" bell.

      Pilot so soon? His flare it is. The mornin'-watch is set.

      Well, God be thanked, as I was sayin', I'm no Pelagian yet.

      Now I'll tak' on…

      'Morrn, Ferguson. Man, have ye ever thought

      What your good leddy costs in coal?.. I'll burn 'em down to port.

      THE MIRACLES

      I sent a message to my dear —

      A thousand leagues and more to her —

      The dumb sea-levels thrilled to hear,

      And Lost Atlantis bore to her.

      Behind my message hard I came,

      And nigh had found a grave for me;

      But that I launched of steel and flame

      Did war against the wave for me.

      Uprose the deep, by gale on gale,

      To bid me change my mind again —

      He broke his teeth along my rail,

      And, roaring, swung behind again.

      I stayed the sun at noon to tell

      My way across the waste of it;

      I read the storm before it fell

      And made the better haste of it.

      Afar, I hailed the land at night —

      The towers I built had heard of me —

      And, ere my rocket reached its height,

      Had flashed my Love the word of me.

      Earth gave her chosen men of strength

      (They lived and strove and died for me)

      To drive my road a nation's length,

      And toss the miles aside for me.

      I snatched their toil to serve my needs —

      Too slow their fleetest flew for me —

      I tired twenty smoking steeds,

      And bade them bait a new for me.

      I sent the lightnings forth to see

      Where hour by hour she waited me.

      Among ten million one was she,

      And surely all men hated me!

      Dawn ran to meet us at my goal —

      Ah, day no tongue shall tell again! —

      And little folk of little soul

      Rose up to buy and sell again!

      THE NATIVE-BORN

      We've drunk to the Queen – God bless her! —

      We've drunk to our mothers' land;

      We've drunk to our English brother

      (But he does not understand);

      We've drunk to the wide creation,

      And the Cross swings low to the morn,

      Last toast, and of obligation,

      A health to the Native-born!

      They change their skies above them,

      But not their hearts that roam!

      We learned from our wistful mothers

      To call old England "home";

      We read of the English sky-lark,

      Of the spring in the English lanes,

      But we screamed with the painted lories

      As we rode on the dusty plains!

      They passed with their old-world legends —

      Their tales of wrong and dearth —

      Our fathers held by purchase,

      But we by the right of birth;

      Our heart's where they rocked our cradle,

      Our love where we spent our toil,

      And

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