 Dedication to the City of Bombay by Richard Kipling Read for LibreVox.org by phone The cities are full of pride, challenging each to each, This from her mountainside, that from her birthing beach. They count their ships full-tail, their corn and oil and wine, Derrick and Loom and Bale and Rampard's gun-flecked line, City by city they hail, hast ought to match with mine, And the men that breed from them, they traffic up and down, But cling to their cities hem, as a child to the mother's gown. When they talk with the stranger bands, dazed and newly alone, When they walk in the stranger lands by roaring streets unknown, Blessing her where she stands, for strength above their own. On high to hold her fame, that stands all fame beyond, By oath to back the same, most faithful foolish fond, Making her mere-breathed name, their bond upon their bond. So thank I God my birth fell not in aisles aside, Waste headlands of the earth, or warring tribes untried, But that she lent me worth, and gave me right to pride. Surely, in toil or fray, under an alien sky, Comfort it is to say, of no mean city am I, Neither by service nor fee come I to mine estate, Mother of cities to me, for I was born in her gate, Between the palms and the sea, where the world ends steamer's weight. Now for this debt I owe, and for her far-born cheer, Must I make haste and go with tribute to her peer, And she shall touch and remit after the use of kings, Orderly ancient fit, my deep-sea plunderings, And purchase in all lands, and this we do for a sign, Her power is over mine, and mine I hold at her hands. End of poem. This recording is in the public domain. A song of the English by Richard Kipling, Read for librafox.org by phone. Fair is our lot, O goodly is our heritage, Humble ye my people, and be fearful in your mirth, For the Lord our God most high, he hath made the deep as dry, He hath smote for us a pathway to the ends of all the earth. Yea, though we sinned, and our rulers went from wretchedness, Deep in all dishonour, though we stained our garments him, O be ye not dismayed, though we stumbled and we strayed, We were led by evil counsellors, the Lord shall deal with them. Hold ye the faith, the faith our Father sealeth us, Horing not with visions, over-wise and over-stale, Except ye pay the Lord single heart and single sword, Of your children in their bondage shall he ask them treble-tail. Keep ye the law, be swift in all obedience, Clear the land of evil, drive the road, Breach the Ford, make ye sure to each his own That he reap what he has sown, by the peace among our peoples Let men know we serve the Lord. Hear now a song, a song of broken interludes, A song of little cunning, of a singer nothing worth. Through the naked words and mean may ye see the truth between, As the singer knew and touched it in the ends of all the earth. End of poem. This recording is in the public domain. The Coast-Wise Lights by Richard Kipling Read for Libberfox.org by phone. Our brows are wreath with spin drift, and the weed is on our knees. Our loins are battered neath us by the swinging, smoking seas. From wreath and rock and scurry, over headland, nest, and vogue, The Coast-Wise Lights of England watch the ships of England go. Through the endless summer evenings, on the line-less level floors, Through the yelling channel tempest, when the siren hoots and roars, By day the dipping house-flag, and by night the rocket's trill, As the sheep that graze behind us, so we know them where they hail. We bridge across the dark, and bid the helmsmen have a care, The flash that wheeling inland wakes his sleeping wife to prayer. From our vexed iris, head to gill, we bind in burning chains, The lover from the sea-rim drawn, his love in English lanes. We greet the clippers, wing and wing, that race the southern woe. We warn the crawling cargo-tanks of gremon, leaf, and hoe. To each and all are equal lump at peril of the sea. The white, wall-sided warships are the whalers of Dundee. Come up, come in from eastward, from the guard-ports of the morn. Beat up, beat in from southerly, o' gypsies of the horn. Swift-chuttles of an empire's loom that weave us, main to main. The coast-wise lights of England give you welcome back again. Go, get you gone up channel, with the sea-crust on your plates. Go, get you into London, with the burden of your freights. Haste, for they talk of empire there, and say, if any seek, the lights of England send you, and by silence shall ye speak. End of poem, this recording is in the public domain. THE SONG OF THE DEAD by Richard Kipling read for leperfox.org by phone. Here now, the song of the dead, in the north by the torn burg-edges, they that look still to the pole, asleep by their height-stripped sledges. Song of the dead, in the south, in the sun by their skeleton-horses, where the warrigal whimpers and bays through the dust of the seer-river-courses. Song of the dead in the east, in the heat-rotted jungle-hollows, where the dog-ape barks in the cloof, in the brick of the buffalo-wallows. Song of the dead in the west, in the barrens, the snow that betrayed them. Where the rooverine-tumbles their pucks from the camp, and the grave-mount they made them. Here now, the song of the dead, we were dreamers, dreaming greatly, in the man-stifled town. We yearned beyond the skyline where the strange roads go down. Came the whisper, came the vision, came the power with the need, till the soul that is not man's soul was lent us to lead. As the deer breaks, as the steer-breaks, from the herd where they graze, in the faith of little children we went on our ways. Then the wood failed, then the food failed, then the last water dried. In the faith of little children we lay down and died. On the sand-drift, on the veld side, in the fern-scrub we lay, that our sons might follow after by the bones on the way. Follow after, follow after, we have watered the root, and the bund has come to blossom that ripens for fruit. Follow after, we are waiting by the trails that we lost, for the sound of many footsteps, for the tread of a host. Follow after, follow after, for the harvest is sown, by the bones about the wayside ye shall come to your own. When Drake went down to the horn, and England was crowned thereby, Twixed seas unsealed, and shores unhealed, Our lodge, our lodge was born, and England was crowned thereby, Which never shall close again by day nor yet by night, While man shall take his life to stake at risk of shawl or mane, By day nor yet by night. But standeth even so as now we witness here, While many part of joyful heart, adventure for to know, As now bear witness here. We have fed our sea for a thousand years, And she calls us still unfed, Though there's never a wave of all her waves, But marks our English dead. We have strawed our best to the weeds unrest, To the shark and the shearing gull. If blood be the price of admiralty, Lord God, we have paid in full. There's never a flood go shoreward now, But drops are dead on the sand. But slinks are dead on the sand's forlore, From the doosies to the swinn. If blood be the price of admiralty, If blood be the price of admiralty, Lord God, we have paid it in. We must feed our sea for a thousand years, For that is our doom and pride, As it won't be for a thousand years, For that is our doom and pride, As it was when they sailed with the golden hind, Or the wreck that struck last tide, Or the wreck that lies on a spouting reef, Where the ghastly blue lights flare. If blood be the price of admiralty, If blood be the price of admiralty, If blood be the price of admiralty, Lord God, we have bought it fair. End of poem. This recording is in the public domain. The Deep Sea Cables by Richard Kipling, Read for LibriVox.org by phone. There wrecks dissolve above us, There dust drops down from afar, Down to the dark to the utter dark, Where the blind white sea snakes are. There is no sound, no echo of sound, In the deserts of the deep, Or the great grey level plains of ooze, Or the shell-bird cable's creep. Here in the womb of the world, Here on the tie-rips of earth, Words and the words of men, Flicker and flutter and beat, Warning, sorrow and gain, Salutation and mirth, For a power troubles the still That has neither voice nor feet. They have weakened the timeless things, They have killed their father time, Joining hands in the gloom, A league from the last of the sun. Hush! Men talk today, Or the waste of the ultimate slime, And a new word runs between, Whispering, let us be one. End of poem. This recording is in the public domain. The Song of the Sons by Richard Kipling Read for LibreVox.org by phone. One from the ends of the earth, Gifts at an open door. Treason has much, but we, mother, Thy sons have more. From the wine of a dying man, From the snarl of a wolf-pack freed, Turn for the world is thine, Mother, be proud of thy seed. Count, are we feeble or few? Here is our speech so rude. Look, are we poor in the land? Judge, are we men of the blood? Those that have stayed at thy knees, mother, Go call them in. We that were bred overseas Wait and would speak with our kin. Not in the dark do we fight, Haggle and flout and jibe, Selling our love for a price, Loaning our hearts for a bribe. Gifts have we only today, Love without promise or fee. Here, for thy children speak From the uttermost parts of the sea. End of poem. This recording is in the public domain. The Song of the Cities by Richard Kipling Read for LibreVox.org by phone. Bombay. Royal and Dower Royal, I, the Queen, Fronting thy richest sea with richer hands, A thousand mills roar through me, Where I gleam all races from all lands. Calcutta. Me, the sea captain, loved, the river built, Wealth sought, and kings adventured, life to hold. Hail England, I am Asia, power on silt, Death in my hands, but gold. Madras. Clive kissed me on the mouth and eyes and brow, Wonderful kisses so that I became crowned above queens, A withered bell dame now, brooding on ancient fame. Rangoon. Hail, mother, do they call me rich in trade? Little care I, but hear the shorn priest drone, And watch my silk-clad lovers, man by maid, Laugh, niece, my suede agone. Singapore. Hail, mother, east and west must seek my aid, ere the spent gear shall dare to port afar. The second doorway of the wide world's trade Is mine to loose or bar. Hong Kong. Hail, mother, hold me fast, My praia sleeps under innumerable keels today, Yet guard and landward for tomorrow sweeps Thy warships down the bay. Halifax. Into the mist my guardian prows put forth, Behind the mist my virgin ramparts lie, The warden of the honour of the north, Sleepless and veiled am I, Quebec and Montreal. Peace is our portion, Yet the whisper rose foolish and causeless, Half ingest, half hate. Now wake we and remember mighty blows, And fearing no man wait. From east to west the circling word has passed, Till west is east beside our land-locked blue. From east to west the tested chain holds fast, The well-forged link rings true. Cape Town. Hail, snatched and bartered off from hand to hand, By dream my dream, by rock and heath and pine, Of empire to the northward, I one land from lion's head to line. Melbourne. Greeting, nor fear nor favour, Won us place, got between greed of gold And dread of drought, loud voice and reckless, At the wild tide race that whips our harbour mouth. Sydney. Greeting, my birth-stain, have I turned to good, Forcing strong wills perverse to steadfastness, The first flush of the tropics in my blood, And at my feet success, Brisbane. The northern stirp beneath the southern skies, I build a nation for an empire's need, Suffer a little and my land shall rise, Queen over lands indeed. Hobart. Man's love first found me, man's hate made me hell, For my babes' sake I cleansed those infamies, Earnest for leave to live and labour well, God flung me peace and ease. Auckland. Last, loneliest, loveliest, exquisite apart, On us, on us, the unswerving season smiles, Who wonder, mid our fern, why mend apart, To seek the happy aisles? End of poem. This recording is in the public domain. England's answer by Richard Kipling, Read for LibriVox.org by phone. Truly ye come of the blood, Slower to bless than to ban, Little used to lie down At the bidding of any man. The flesh of the flesh that I bred, Bone of the bone that I bear, Stark as your sons shall be, Stern as your fathers were. Deeper than speech or love, Stronger than life or tether, But we do not fall on the neck Nor kiss when we come together. My arm is nothing weak, My strength is not gone by. My sons, I have borne many sons, But my dugs are not dry. Look, I have made ye a place, And opened wide to the doors, That ye may talk together, Your barons and counsellors, Wards of the outer march, Lords of the lower seas. I talk to your grey mother, That bore you on her knees, That ye may talk together, On her face, thus for the good of your peoples, Thus for the pride of the race. Also we will make promise, So long as the blood endures, I shall know that your good is mine, Ye shall feel that my strength is yours. In the day of Armageddon, At the last great fight of all, That our house stand together And the pillars do not fall. Go now the threefold knot Firm on the ninefold bands, And the law that ye make Shall be law after the rule of your lands. This for the waxen heath, And that for the wattle bloom, This for the maple leaf, And that for the southern broom. The law that ye make shall be law, And I do not press my will, Because ye are sons of the blood, And call me mother still. Now must ye speak to your kinsmen, And they must speak to you, After the use of the English In straight-flowing words and few. Go to your work and be strong, Haunting knot in your ways, Walking the end half-one, For an instant dole of praise. Stand to your work and be wise, Certain of sword and pen, Who are neither children nor gods, But men in a world of men. End of poem. This recording is in the public domain. Lot rose her tribe on our track ere I had proved her, Hearing her laugh in the gloom. Greatly I loved her. Swift through the forest we ran, Nuns to digard us, few were my people and far, Then the flood barred us. Him we call son of the sea, Solan and swollen, Panting we waited the death, Stealer and stolen. Yet ere they came to my lands, Laid for the slaughter, Lightly she leaped to a log, Holding on high and apart skins that arrayed her, Called she the god of the wind, That he should aid her. Life had the tree at that word, Praise we the giver, Otter-like left he the bank for the full river, Far fell their axes behind, Flashing and ringing, Wonder was on me and fear, Yet she was singing. Low lay the land we had left, Now the blue bound us, Even the floor of the gods' level around us, Whisper there was not, nor word, Shadow nor showing, Still the light stirred on the deep, Glowing and growing. Then did he leap to his place, Flaring from under, He the compeler, the son, Bared to our wonder. Nay, not a league from our eyes, Blinded with gazing, Cleared he the womb of the world, Huge and amazing. This we beheld, and we live, The pit of the burning, Not spoke to the tree for our returning, Back to the beach of our flight, Fearless and slowly, Back to our slayers he went, But we were holy. Men that were hot in the tunt, Women that followed, Babes that were promised our bones, Trumbled and wallowed, Over the necks of the tribe, Crouching and fawning, Prophet and priestess we came back From the dawning. End of poem. This recording is in the public domain. Read for Librafolks.org by Elaine Conway, England. And there was no more sea. Thus said the Lord in the vault above the cherubim, Calling to the angels and the souls in their decree, Low earth has passed away On the smoke of judgment day, That our word may be established. Shall we gather up the sea, Loud, sighing the souls of the jolly, Jolly mariners, plague upon the hurricane That made us furl and flee, But the war is done between us. In the deep the Lord has seen us, Our bones will leave the barracute, And God may sink the sea. Then said the soul of Judas, That portrayed him, Lord, hast thou forgotten thy covenant with me? How once a year I go, To call me on the flow, And ye take my day of mercy, If ye take away the sea. Then said the soul of the angel, Of the offshore wind, He that bits the thunder, When the bull-mouthed breakers flee, I have watch and water to keep, O thou wanders on the deep, And ye take mine honour, For me if ye take away the sea. Loud, sighing the souls of the jolly, Jolly mariners, Nay, but we are angry, And a hasty folk are we, We worked the ship together, Till she found it in foul weather, Are we babes that we should clamour, For a vengeance on the sea? Then said the souls of the slaves, That men threw overboard, Kennalled in the pickeroon, A weary band were we, But thy arm was strong to save, And it touched us on the wave, And we driers to the long tides idle, Till thy trumpets draw the sea. Then cried the soul of the stout Apostle Paul to God, Once refrapped to ship, And she laboured, woundily. There were fourteen score of these, And they blessed thee on their knees. When they learned thy grace and glory, And amulted by the sea, Loud sang the souls of the jolly, Jolly mariners, Plucking at their harps, And they plucked unhandily, Our thumbs are rough and hard, And the tune is something hard. May we lift a deep sea shanty, Such a seamen use at sea. Then said the souls of the gentlemen, Adventurers, Fettered wrists to bar, All for red iniquity. Ho, we revel in our chains, Oh, the sorrow that was spain's, He will sink it, leave or drink it, We were masters of the sea. Upspake the soul of a grey, Gothen speck shyener, He that led the flinching in the fleets of fair dandy, Ho, the ringer and bright wail, And the fish we struck for sail, Will ye warm them all for wantonness, That wallow in the sea? Loud sang the souls of the jolly, Jolly mariners, crying, Under heaven, here is neither lead, Nor lee, must we sing forevermore, Ont the windless glassy floor, Take back your golden fiddles, And we'll beat to open sea. They stooped the Lord, And he called the good sea up to him, And established his borders, Until all eternity, That such as have no pleasure, For to praise the Lord by measure, They may enter into galleons, And serve him on the sea. Sun, wind, and clouds Are fell not from the face of it, Stinging, ringing, spend rift, Nor the fulmar flying free, Under the ship shall go abroad To the glory of the Lord, Who hurt the jolly sail of folk, And gave them back their sea. End of poem. This recording is in the public domain. The Merchant Men by Wajahad Kipling Read for LibraVolks.org by Elaine Conway, England. King Solomon drew merchant men Because of his desire, For Peacock's apes and ivory From tarnish unto tyre, With cedars out of Lebanon, Which Hiram rafted down, But we be only sailor men that use. In London town, Coast-wise cross seas round the world And back again, Where the floor shall head us Or the full-trade suits, Plane sail, storm sail, Lay your board and tack again, And that's the way we'll pay Paddy Doyle for his boots. We bring no store of ingots Of spice or precious stones That we have, we gathered With sweat and aching bones In flame beneath the tropics In crossed upon the flow And a jeopardy of every wind That does between them go. And some we got by purchase And some we had by trade And some we found by courtesy Of pike and caranade At midnight, mid-sea meetings For charity to keep And light the rolling homeward band That rode a foot too deep By sport of bitter weather Were waltly strained and scarred From the kentalage on the calzone To the slings upon the yard Six oceans had their will of us To carry all away Gallies in the Baltic And our booms in Mosul Bay We flandered off the texel And washed with sodden deals We've slipped from Valparaiso With a norther at our heels We've ratched beyond the corsets That tusk the southern pole And dipped our gunnels under To the dread agolas roll Beyond all outer charting We sailed where none have sailed And saw the land lights burning On islands none have hailed Our hair stood up for wonder But when the night was done They'd danced the deep to windward Blue empty neath the sun Strained consorts rode beside us Brought us evil luck The witch-fire climbed our channels And danced on vane and truck Till through the red tornado That lashed as night blind We saw the Dutchman plunging Full canvas had to wind We've heard the midnight Leedsman That calls the black deep down A thrice we've heard to the swimmer The thing that may not drown On frozen bunt and gasket The sleet clad d'rave her hosts When manned by more than signed with us We passed the island of ghosts And north amid the hammocks A biscuit toss below We met the silent shallop That frightened whalers know For down a cruel ice-lane To opened as he spared We saw dead Henry Hudson's dear North by west he stared So doubt God's waters with us Beneath the roaring skies So walked his signs and marvels Or naked to our eyes But we were heading homeward With trade to lose or make Good Lord they slipped behind us In the tailing of our wake Let go, let go the anchors Now shamed at heart are we To bring so poor a cargo home That had for gifts the sea Let go the great bow anchors Our foals were we and blind The worst we bailed with our to-toil The best we left behind Coast-wise, cross seas round the world And back again, whether the floor Shall fail us or the trades drive down Plain sails storm sail Lay your board and tack again And all to bring a cargo up To London town. And a poem, this recording Is in the public domain. MacAndrew's hymn By Rudyard Kipling Read for LibreVolks.org By Elaine Conway England. Lord Thou hast made this world Below the shadow of a dream And taught by time I tack it so Accepting always steam From couple of flange to spindle guide I see thy hand, O God. O yarn connecting rod John Calvin might have forged The same enormous certain slow I wrought it in the furnace flame My institution. I cannot get my sleep tonight Odd bones are hard to please I'll stand the middle watch up here Alone we go and ease My engines, after 90 days Erase and rack and strain Through all the seas of all thy world Some bang in home again Some bang too much they knock away The cross-head gibbs are loose But 30,000 mile a sea Has guide them fair excuse Fine, clear and dark A fordraled drought breeze We ush and add to sight And Ferguson relieving hay Old girl you walk tonight His wife set Plymouth 71 Two, three since he began Then turns for Mistress Ferguson And who's to blame the man? There's none at any port for me By driving fast or slow Since Alcy Campbell went to thee Lord 30 years ago The year the Sarah Sands was burned O roads were used to tread From Mary Hill to Pollock Shores Fragg-govern to Parkhead Not but there evil on the board You hear the Kenneth say Good morn, McCandrews, back again And how's your bilge today? Miss Colin technicalities But handing me my chair To drink Madeira Weethree Earls The old fleet engineer That started as a boiler-welp When steam and e-willow I mined the time we used to serve A broken pipe, we tow Ten pound was all the pressure Then a, a, a man were to strive And here I'll work in gauges Give one a hinder, fifty-five We're creeping on, we each New rig, less weight and larger power There be the loco boiler next And thirty knots an hour Thirty and more, what I have seen Since ocean steam began Leaves me no dute for the machine But what about the man The man that counts we all his runs One million mile a sea Four timers span from earth to moon Have far o' lord from thee That was't beside him night and day You mind my first typhoon? It's scow'd, the skipper on his way To jock we the saloon Three feet were on the stoll-cold floor Just slapping to and fro And cast me on a furnace-stall I have the marks to show Marks, I ha' marks are more than burns Deep in my soul and black And times like this when things go smooth My wickedness comes back The sins are four and forty years All up and down the seas Clack and repeat like vows half fed Forges are trespasses Nights when I'd come on deck to mark The entry in my gaze The couples kittling in the dark Between the funnel-stays Years when I raped the poor's repride To fill my cup o' wrong Judge not, o' lord, my steps aside At Gay Street in Hong Kong Blot out the wastrel hours of mine In sin when I abode Jane Harrogans and number nine The Reddick and Grant Road And Warrow, them all my crowning sin Ranked blasphemy and wild I was not four and twenty then You wouldn't a judge a child I'd seen the tropics first that run New fruit, new smiles, new air How could I tell, blind fool we son The Dale was lurking there My day-like playhouse scenes the shore Sit past our sleepy eyes By night, though soft, laskevious stars Leared from those velvet skies In port we used no cargo steam I'd dawned down the streets An edgit grinning in a dream A shells and parakeets And walking sticks, a carved bamboo And blowfish stuffed and dried Filling my bunk with rubbish-ry The chief put over side Till off some bow ahead, tea-mind I heard a land breeze car Milk warm with breath of spice And blue with Andrew's Camoar Firm, clear and low, and no haste No hate, the ghostly whisper went Just Dayton, evidential Fats beyond all argument You mithers, gods, a gasping deal The shadow on your cell Get out of books by ministers Clean daft on heaven and hell They mack him in the broom-y law A glassy cold-and-dirt A jealous, priody, foo-fettage Lad that's only strong to hurt He'll not go back to him again And kiss his red hot rod But come we us, now we Who were they? And know the leaving-god That does not keep us souls for sport Or break our life in jest But swells the ripening Coconuts and writes the woman's breast And there it stopped, cut off no more At quiet, certain voice For me, six months at twenty-four To leave or take ad-choice It was on me like a thunderclap It racked me through and through Temptation passed to the slower speech A-neighbourble and anew The sin against the Holy Ghost And under all our screw That storm blew by but left behind Her anchor shifting swell Thou knowest all my heart and mind Thou knowest, Lord, I fell Third on the merry Gloucester then And first that night in hell It was thy hand beneath my head About my feet thy care For our deli, clear to tourist straight Trial long to spare But when we touched the barrier-reef Thy answer to my prayer Dared, and I run that sea by night But lay and held our fire And I was drowsing on the hatch Sick, sick we doubt and tear Better the sight of eyes that see And wander in old desire You mind that word, clear as our gongs Again and once again When ripping down through coal trash Run out our mooring chain And by thy grace I had the light To see my duty plain Light on the engine room no more Clear as our carbons burn I've lost it since a thousand times But never past return Observe, eh? Per annum we'll have here Two thousand souls aboard Think not I dare to justify myself Before the Lord, but average Fifteens hinder souls Safe born from port to port I am a service to my kind Ye wouldn't have blamed the thought Maybe they steam from grace to wealth To sin by folly lead It isn't a mine to judge their path The lives are on my head Mine at the last when all is done It all comes back to me The fault that leaves six thousand Turn a log upon the sea We'll tack one stretch three weeks An odd by any road he steer For our Cape Town east to Wellington You need an engineer Well there, you've time to weld Your shaft, eh? Eat it, ere you spake Or make Kugwilen under sail Three jiggers burned we smoke And home again the real run It's no child's play to go Steaming to bow for fourteen days As snow and flow and blow The bergs like help is Overside that gun And turn and shift While grinding like the mills of God Those by the big south drift Tell snow and ice that praise the Lord I've met them at their work And wished we had another root Or they another kirk Yon strain hard strain or a head and hand For though thy power brings All skill to nought he'll understand And man must think of things Then at the last we'll get to port And hoist their baggage clear The passengers with gloves and canes And this is what I'll hear Well thank you for a pleasant voyage The tenders coming now While I go testing follower bolts And watch the skipper bow They've words for everyone but me Shake hands with half a crew Except the dowel scots engineer The man they never knew And yet I like the work For all we've down a few pickings here No pension and the most be earns For hinder pound a year Better myself abroad may be I'd sooner starve than sail We such as call a sniffer Ross French for nightingale Come easy on on my stalls Some do but I cannot afford To lie like stewards with patty pans I'm older than the board A bonus on the coal I save Oh ay the scots are close But when I grudge the strength he gave I'll grudge their food to those There's bricks that I might recommend And clink the fireballs cruel No Welsh wangarty at the worst And daml patent fuel Inventions? You must stay in port to mack a patent pay My deferential valve gear Taught me how that business lay I blame no traps to clear ahead For ought they make or sell I fan that I would not invent And look to these as well So wrestled we pop along Ah fretted like a ben But burned the work in Plans last run We all I hoped to earn You know how hard an idol dies And what that meant to me In tack it for a sacrifice Acceptable to thee Below their oiler what's your work You find her running hard He needn't swill the cap with oil This isn't the cunard You thought you are not paid to think Yes, sweat that off again Tick, tick, it's difficult to swear Nor tack the name in vain Men, ay, and women call me stern With ease to oversee You'll know to have little time To burn on social raparty The bans see what their elders miss They hunt me to and fro Till for the sake of well A kiss, I tack him down below That reminds me of our vikant loon It's a Kenneth skin the chap We rush a leather tennis shun And spar deck a yachting cap I showed him man to last week, oh well And at the last he says he Mr. McAndrews don't you think Steam spools romance at sea Damned itch'd have been doing That mourn to see What held the throes Holling on my back The cranks three inches from my nose Romance, those first class passengers They like it very well Printed and banned in little books But why don't a poet's tell I'm sick of all their quirks and turns The loves and doves they dream Lord send a man like Robbie Burns To sing the song, Christine To match with Scotia's noblest speech You orchestre a sublime War two Uplifted like the dust The tail rods mark the time The crank throws give the double bass The feedpunt sobs and heaves And now the main eccentrics Start their quarrel on the sheaves Her time, her own appointed time The rocking-linked rides Till hear that note The rods return Wings glimmer in through the guides They're all a war through beatful power Check the clanging chorus goes Clear to the tunnel where they sit My power in dynamoes Interdependence absolute For seen ordained, decreed To work your note to tenny tilt And every rate of speed For our skylights lift To furnished bars Bat-bolted, braced and staid And singing like the morning stars For joy that they are made Out to touch of vanity The sweating thrust block says Not unto us the praise a man Not unto us the praise Now work together, hear them lift Their lesson, theirs and mine Law, order, duty and restraint Obedience, discipline Mill, fortune, tribe, pit Taught them that when roaring They arose And whilst I wonder if a soul Was guide them with a blows O, for a man to wield it then In one trip hammer-strain To leave in first-class passengers Could tell the meaning plain But no-one cares except myself A servant understand My seven thousand horsepower here A lord their grand, their grand A blifter mine when first installed The new-made beast is stood Were ye cast down that breath to the word Claring all things good No, oh, that world-lifting joy No, after-fail could vex You've left a glimmer still to cheer The man, the art-effects That holds in spite and knock-and-scale A friction waste and slip And by that light now mark my word Will build the perfect ship I'll never last to judge her lines Or take a curve not high But I have lived and I have worked Or thanks to thee most high And I had done what I had done Judge thou if ill or well Always thy grace preventing me Losh yons the stand by bell Pilot so soon his flair it is The morning watch is set While God be thanked as I was saying I'm no Palladian yet Now I'll take on Morn Ferguson, man, have he ever thought What your good lady costs in coal I'll burn him down to port And a poem, this recording Is in the public domain The Miracles by Rudyard Kipling Read for Libervolkstott Org By Elaine Conway, England I sent a message to my dear Thousand leagues and war to her The Dumsey levels thrilled to hear And lost Atlantis born to her Behind my message hard I came And I had found a grave for me But that I launched a steel and flame Did war against the way for me I brose the deep by gale on gale Bid me change my mind again He broke his teeth along my well And roaring sprung behind again I stayed the sun at noon to tell My way across the waist of it I read the storm before it fell And made the better haste of it Afar I hailed the land at night Towers I built that had heard of me And ear my rocket reached its height Had flushed my love the word of me Earth gave a chosen man 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 To slow their fleet as flew for me I tired twenty smoking steeds And bade them bade to new for me I sent the lightnings forth to sea 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 Ardeno town shall tell again And little folk of little soul Rose up to buy and sell again End of poem, this recording Is in the public domain The native born by Rudyard Kipling Read for Libervolks.org By Elaine Conway, England We drank to the queen, God bless her We've drunk to our mother's land We've drunk to our English brother But he does not understand We've drunk to the wide creation As the cross swings low to the morn Last toast and of obligation A health to the native born They changed their skies above them But not their hearts that roam We learned from our wistful mothers To call old England home We read by the English skylark Of the spring in the English lanes But we screamed with the painted lorries As we rode on the dusty plains They passed with their old world legends Their tales of wrong and death Our fathers held by purchase But we, by the right of birth Our hearts where they rocked our cradle Our love where we spent our toil And our faith and our hope and our honour We pledged to our native soul I charge you, charge your glasses I charge you, drink with me To the men of the four new nations And to the islands of the sea To the last leased lump of coal That none may stand outside At our own good pride shall teach us To praise our comrades' pride To the hush of the breathless morning Of the thin, tin crackling roofs To the haze of the burned-back ranges And to the dust of the chewless hooves To the risk of a death by drowning To the risk of a death by drought To the men of a million acres To the sons of the golden south To the sons of the golden south Stand up! And to the life we live and know Let our fellow singer The little things he cares about If a fellow fights for the little things He cares about with the weight of a single blow To the smoke of a hundred coasters To the sheep on a thousand hills To the sun that never blisters To the rain that never chills To the land of the waiting springtime To our five-mil meat-fed men To the tall, deep-buzzomed women And to the children nine and ten Stand up! And to the life we live and know Let our fellow singer The little things he cares about If a fellow fights for the little things He cares about with the weight of a two-fold blow To the far-flung, fence-less prairie With a quick-cloud-shadows trail To our neighbour's barn in the offing And the line of a new-cut rail To the plough in her legal-on furrow With the grey-lake girls behind To the weight of a half-year's winter And the warm-wet-western wind To the home of the flood-sand-thunder To a pale-dry healing blue To the lift of the great cape-cumbers And the smile of the baked caroo To the growl of the sleucing stamp-head To the reef and the water-gold To the last and the largest empire To the map that is half-enrolled To our dear, dark-foster mothers To the heathen songs they sung To the heathen songs they sung To the heathen speech we babbled Here we came to the white man's tongue To the call of our deep verandahs To the blaze of our jewelled mane To the night to the palms in the moonlight And the firefly in the cane To the hearth of our people's people To her well-plared windy sea To the hush of our dread-high altars Where the abbey makes us we To the grist of the slow-ground ages To the gain that is yours and mine To the bank of the open credit To the powerhouse of the line We've drunk to the queen-god-blesser We've drunk to our mother's land We've drunk to our English brother And we hope he'll understand We've drunk as much as we're able And the cross-swing slow to the morn Last toast and your foot on the table A health to the native-born A health to the native-born Stand up, where six white men are rowed Or bound to sing of the little things we care about Or bound to fight for the little things we care about With the weight of a six-fold blow But the weight of our cable-toe take hands From the awkness to the horn Or round the world in a little loop To pull it by or round the world And a little strap to buckle it A health to the native-born End of poem This recording is in the public domain The King By Richard Kipling Read for Libbervox.org By Elaine Conway England Farewell romance, the caveman said With bone well carved he went away Flint arms the ignoble arrowhead And Jasper tips the spear to-day Changed other gods of hunt and dance And he with ease farewell romance Farewell romance, the lake folkside Loved the weight of flat lingures The caverns of the mountainside Hored him whose horns our-hatted peers Lost hills whereby we dare not dwell Guarding his rest romance farewell Farewell romance, the soldier spoke By sleight of sword we may not win But scuffle mid-uncleanly smoke Of archibus and cauldron Honor is lost and none may tell Who paid good blows romance farewell Farewell romance, the traders cried Our cures how lane with every sea The dull returning wind untied Heave up the wharf where we would be The known and noted breezes well Our trudging cell romance farewell Goodbye romance, the skipper said He vanished with the coal we burn Our dull marks full steam ahead Our speed is timed to half a turn Sure as the tidal trains reply Tricks to port and port Romance goodbye Romance season tickets mourn He never ran to catch his train Which passed with coach and garden Horn and left the local late again Confound romance and all unseen Romance bought up the nine fifteen His hand was on the lever laid His oil can soothed the worrying cranks His whistle waked the snow-bound grade His folk horn cut the weaking banks In dock and deep and mine and mill The boy-god reckless laboured still Robed, crowned and throned He wove his spell where heart-blood Beat all half smoked coal With unconsidered miracle Hedged in a backward gazing world Then taught his chosen bard to say The king was with us yesterday End of poem, this recording Is in the public domain The rhyme of the three sealers By Rudyard Kipling Read for LibriVox.org by Phil Shempf Away by the lands of the Japanese Where the paper lanterns glow And the crews of all the shipping drink In the house of Blood Street Joe At twilight, when the landward breeze Brings up the harbour noise An ebb of Yokohama Bay Swigs chattering through the boys In Sisko's do-drop of dining-rooms They tell the tale anew Of a hidden sea and a hidden fight When the Baltic ran from the northern light And the strawsund fought the two Now this is the law of the Muscovite That he proves with shot and steel When ye come by his aisles in the smoky sea Ye must not take the seal Where the grey sea goes, nakedly Between the weed-hung shelves And the little blue fox He is bred for his skin And the seal they breed for themselves For when the Matkas seek the shore To drop their pups a land The great man seal all out of the sea Arroaring band by band And when the first September gales Have slaked their rutting wrath The great man seal all back to sea And no man knows their path Dark they lie, and stark they lie Rookery, dune, and flow And the northern lights come down on ice To dance with the houseless snow And God who clears the grounding burg And steers the grinding flow He hears the cry of the little kit fox And the lemming on the snow But since our women must walk gay And money buys their gear The sealing boats, they've filched that way That hazard year by year English they be, and Japanese That hang on the brown bear's flank And some be Scott, but the worst, God what And the boldest thieves be Yank It was the sealer northern light To the smoky seas she bore With a stovepipe stuck from a starboard port And the Russian flag at her fore Baltic, Straussand, and northern light They were birds of a feather Slipping away to the smoky seas Three seal thieves together And at last she came to a sandy cove And the Baltic lay therein But her men were up with a herding seal To drive and club and skin There were fifteen hundred skins a beach Cool pelt and proper fur When the northern light drove into the bite And the sea mist drove with her The Baltic called her men and wade She could not choose but run For a stovepipe scene through the closing mist It shows like a four-inch gun And loss it is that is sad as death To lose both trip and ship And lie for a rotting contraband On Vladivostok's lip She turned and dived in the sea smother As a rabbit dives in the winds And the northern light sent up her boats To steal the stolen skins They had not brought a load to side Or slid their hatches clear When they were aware of a sloop of war Ghost white and very near Her flag she showed And her guns she showed Three of them, black a beam And a funnel white with the crusted salt But never a show of steam There was no time to man the brakes They knocked the shackle free And the northern light stood out again Goose winged to open sea For life it is that is worse than death By force of Russian law To work in the minds of Mercury That loose the teeth in your jaw They had not run a mile from shore They heard no shots behind When the skipper smote his hand on his thigh And threw her up in the wind Bluffed, raised out on a bluff, said he For if my name's Tom Hall You must set a thief to catch a thief And a thief has caught us all By every button, Oregon And every spar in Maine The hand that spilled the wind from her sail Was the hand of Ruben Payne He has rigged and trigged her With paint and spar and faith He has faked her well But I know the Strausson's Deckhouse yet from here to the Booms oh hell Oh once we have met in Baltimore And twice on Boston Pier But the sickest day for you, Ruben Payne Was the day that you came here The day that you came here might lead To scare us from our seal With your funnel made or your painted cloth And your guns a rotten deal Ring and blow for the Baltic now And head her back to the bay For we'll come into the game again With a double deck to play They rang and blew the sealer's call The poaching cry of the sea And they raised the Baltic out of the mist And an angry ship was she And blind they groped through the whorling white And blind to the bay again Till they heard the creak of the Strausson's boom And the clank of her mooring chain They laid them down by bit and boat Their pistols in their belts Will you fight for it, Ruben Payne? Or will you share the pelts? A dog-toothed laugh laughed Ruben Payne And bared his flinching knife Yea, skin for skin And all that he hath A man will give for his life But I've six thousand skins below And yea, no port to see And there's never a law of God or man Runs north of fifty-three So go in peace to the naked seas With empty holds to fill And I'll be good to your seal this catch As many as I shall kill Answered the snap of a closing lock And the jar of a gun-butt slid But the tender fog shut fold on fold To hide the wrong they did The weeping fog rolled fold on fold The wrath of man to cloak And the flame-spurt pale Ran down the rail as the sealing rifle spoke The bullets bit on bend and butt The splinters slivered free Little they trust to sparrow dust That stop the seal in his sea The thick smoke hung and would not shift Ledden it lay and blew But three were down on the Baltic's deck And two of the Strausson's crew And arms length out and over side The banked fog held them bound But as they heard or grown or word They fired at the sound For one cried out on the name of God And one to have him cease And the questing volley found them both And bade them hold their peace And one called out on a heathen joss And one on the virgin's name And the schooling bullet leaped across And showed them whence they came And in the waiting silences The rudder whined beneath And each man drew his watchful breath Slow taken, tween the teeth Trigger an ear and eye a cock Knit brow when hard-drawn lips Bracing his feet by chalk and cleat For the rolling of the ships Till they heard the cough of a wounded man That fought in the fog for breath Till they heard the torment of Ruben pain that wailed upon his death The tides they'll go through fundy race But I'll go never more And see the hogs from ebb tide mark Turn scampering back to shore No more I'll see the trawlers drift Below the bass-rock ground Or watch the tall fall steamer lights Tear blazing up the sound Sorrow is me in a lonely sea And a sinful fight I fall But if there's law or God or man You'll swing for it yet, Tom Hall Tom Hall stood up by the quarter rail Your words in your teeth said he There's never a law of God or man Runs north of fifty-three So go in grace with him to face And an ill-spent life behind And I'll take care of your widow's rub As many as I shall find A straw-sund man shot blind and large And a warlock fin was he And he hit Tom Hall with a bursting ball A hands-breath over the knee Tom Hall caught hold by the topping lift And sat him down with an oath You'll wait a little, Rube, he said The devil has called for both The devil is driving both this tide And the killing grounds are close And we'll go up to the wrath of God As the hauless shikky goes O men, put back your guns again And lay your rifles by We fought our fight and the best are down Let up and let us die Quit firing, by the bow there, quit Call off the Baltic's crew You're sure of hell as me or Rube But wait till we get through There went no word between the ships But thick and quick and loud The life-blood drummed on the dripping decks With the fog due from the shroud The sea-pole drew them side by side Gunnel to gunnel laid And they felt the sheer strikes Pound and clear, but never a word was said Then Ruben Payne cried out again Before his spirit passed Have I followed the sea for thirty years To die in the dark at last? Curson her work that has nipped me here With a shifty trick unkind I've gotten my death where I got my bread But I dare not face it blind Curson the fog, is there never a wind Of all the winds I knew To clear the smother from off my chest And let me look at the blue? The good fog heard, like a split in sail To the left and right she tore And they saw the sun-dogs in the haze And the seal upon the shore Silver and gray ran spit and bay To meet the steel back-tide And pinched and white in the clearing light The crew stared over-side O rainbow gay the red pools lay That swilled and spilled and spread And gold, raw gold, that spent shell-rolled Between the careless dead The dead that rocked so drunken-wise To weather and to lee And they saw the work their hands had done As God had bade them see And a little breeze blew over the rail And made the head-sales lift But no man stood by wheel or sheet And they let the schooners drift And the rattle rose and Ruben's throat And he cast his soul with a cry And, gone already, Tom Hall said Then it's time for me to die His eyes were heavy, with great sleep And yearning for the land And he spoke as a man that talks in dreams His wound beneath his hand Oh, there comes no good in the westering wind That backs against the sun Wash down the decks, they're all too red And share the skins and run Baltic, stralson, and northern light Clean share and share for all You'll find the fleets off Tolstoy Amis But you will not find Tom Hall Evil he did in shoal water And blacker sin on the deep But now he's sick of watchin' trick And now he'll turn and sleep You'll have no more of the crawling sea That made him suffer so But he'll lie down on the killing grounds Where the hauls' chickey go And west you'll turn and south again Beyond the sea fog's rim And tell the Yoshiwara girls To burn a stick for him And you'll not wait him by the heels And dump him over side But carry him up to the sand hollows To die as Bering died And make a place for Ruben Payne That knows the fight was fair And leave the two that did the wrong To talk it over there Half steam ahead by Gessen led For the sun is mostly veiled Through fog to fog By luck and log, sail ye as Bering sailed And if the light shall lift a right To give your landfall plain North and by west From Zapney Crest Is the Cross's twain Fair marks are they to the inner bay The reckless poacher knows What time the scarred sea-catchy Lead their sleek saroglios Ever they hear the flow-pack clear And the blast of the old bullwhale And the deep-sealed roar That beats offshore above the loudest gale Ever they wait the winter's hate As the thundering burga calls Their northward look they to St. George And westward to St. Paul's Ever they greet the hunted fleet Loan keels off Headland's drear When the ceiling schooners Flit that way at hazard year by year Ever in Yokohama port Men tell the tale anew Of a hidden sea and a hidden fight When the Baltic ran from the northern light And the straw-sun fought the two The poem this recording is in the public domain The Derelict by Rudyard Kipling Read for Librevox.org By Linda Marie Nielsen Vancouver, B.C. And reports the derelict Mary Pollock still at sea Shipping news I was the staunchest of our fleet Till the sea rose beneath our feet Unheralded in hatred past all measure Into his pits he stamped my crew Buffeted, blinded, bound, and threw Bidding me eyeless wait upon his pleasure Man made me, and my will Is to my maker still Whom now the currents con The roller-steer Lifting forlorn to spy Trailed smoke along the sky Failing afraid lest any keel come near Wrenched as the lips of thirst Ride, tried, and split and burst Bone bleached my decks When scoured to the graining And jarred at every roll The gear that was my soul Answers the anguish Of my beams complaining For life that crammed me full Gangs of the prying gull That shriek and scrabble on The ribbon hatches For roar that dumbed the gale My haws pipes guttering wail Sobbed my heart out through The uncounted watches Blind in the hot blue ring Through all my points I swing Swing and return to shift the sun anew Blind in my well-known sky I hear the stars go by Mocking the prow that can dot hold one true My wasted path, wave after wave in wrath Fretz gainst his fellow warring where to send me Flung forward heaved aside Witless and dazed I bid The mercy of the Comer That shall end me North where the bergs careen The spray of seas unseen Moaks round my head and freezes in the falling South where the corals breed The footless floating weed Folds me and fouls me Strake on strake up crawling I that was clean to run My race against the sun Strength on the deep and bod To all disaster Whipped forth by night to meet My sister's careless feet And with a kiss betray her to my master Man made me and my will Is to my maker still To him and his are peoples at their pier Lifting in hope to spy Trailed smoke along the sky Falling afraid lest any keel come near End of poem, this recording is in the public domain The Song of the Banjo by Rudyard Kipling Read for LibriVox.org by Linda Marie Nielsen Vancouver, BC You couldn't pack a broadwood half a mile You mustn't leave a fiddle in the damp You couldn't raft an organ up the Nile And play it in an equatorial swamp I travel with the cooking pots and pails I'm sandwiched between the coffee and the pork And when the dusty column checks and tails You should hear me spur the rearguard to a walk With my pilly-billy winky-winky pop Oh, it's any tune that comes into my head So I keep on moving forward till they drop So I play them up to water and to bed In the silence of the camp before the fight When it's good to make your will and say your prayer You can hear my strumpety-tumpety overnight Explaining ten to one was always fair I'm the prophet of the utterly absurd Of the patently impossible and vain And when the thing that couldn't has occurred Give me time to change my leg and go again With my tumpa-tumpa-tumpa-tumpa-tump In the desert where the dung-fed camp smoke curled There was never voice before us till I led Our lonely chorus, I, the wardrobe of The white man round the world By the bitter road the younger son must tread Ur he win to hearth and saddle of his own Mid the riot of the shearers at the shed In the silence of the herders hot alone In the twilight on a bucket upside down Hear me babble what the weakest won't confess I am memory and torment, I am town I am all that ever went with evening dress With my tumpa-tumpa-tumpa-tumpa-tump So the lights, the London lights grow near and plain So I roll them afresh towards the devil and the flesh Till I bring my broken rankers home again In desire of many marvels overseas Where the new-raised-tropic city sweats and roars I have sailed with young Ulysses from the Quay Till the anchor rumbled down on stranger shores He is blooded to the open and the sky He is taken in a snare that shall not fail He shall hear me singing strongly till he die Like the shouting of a backstay in a gale With my haia hea hea holla holl All the green that thunders aft along the deck Are you sick, o towns and men You must sign and sail again For its Johnny bow-legs pack your kit and trek Through the gorge that gives the stars at noon day clear Up the pass that packs the scud beneath our wheel Round the bluff that sinks her thousand-fathom shear Down the valley with our guttering breaks a squeal Where the trestle groans and quivers in the snow Where the many-shedded levels loop and twine So I lead my reckless children from below Till we sing the song of Roland to the pine With my tink-a-tink-a-tink-a-tink And the axe has cleared the mountain croup and crest So we ride the iron stallions down to drink Through the cannons to the waters of the west And the tunes that mean so much to you alone Common tunes that make you choke and blow your nose Vulgar tunes that bring the laugh that brings the groan I can rip your very heartstrings out with those With the feasting and the folly and the fun And the lying and the lusting and the drink And the merry play that drops you when you're done To the thoughts that burn like irons if you think With my plunk-a-lunk-a-lunk-a-lunk Here's a trifle on account of pleasure past Ur the wit that made you win Gives you eyes to see your sin And the heavier repentance at the last Let the organ moan her sorrow to the roof I have told the naked stars the grief of man Let the trumpet snare the foreman to the proof I have known defeat and mocked it as we ran My bray ye may not alter nor mistake When I stand to jeer the fatted soul of things But the song of lost endeavor that I make Is it hidden in the twanging of the strings With my ta-ra-ra-ra-ra-ra-ra-rip Is it not to you that hear and pass me by But the word, the word is mine When the order moves the line And the lean locked ranks go roaring down to die The grandam of my grandam was the leer O the blue below the little fisher-huts That the stealer stooping beach ward filled with fire Till she bore my iron head and ringing guts By the wisdom of the centuries I speak To the tune of yester-morne I set the truth I the joy of life unquestioned I the Greek I the everlasting wonder song of youth With my tink-a-tink-a-tink-a-tink What do you lack, my noble masters? What do you lack? So I draw the world together, link by link Ye from Delos up to Limerick and back End of poem, this recording is in the public domain The Liner She's a Lady by Rudyard Kipling Read for LibreVox.org by Linda Marie Nielsen Vancouver, B.C. The Liner She's a Lady and she never looks nor needs The man awards her husband and he gives Her all she needs, but old of little cargo boats That sail the wet seas round, they're just the same As you and me, a plon up and down Plining up and down, Jenny, hanging round the yard All the way from Fratton Tram down to Portsmouth, Ard Anything for business and we're growing old Plying up and down, Jenny, waiting in the cold The Liner She's a Lady by the paint upon her face And if she meets an accident they call it sore disgrace The man awards her husband and he's always Candy by, but old of little cargo boats They've got to load or die The Liner She's a Lady and her root is cut and dried The man awards her husband and he's always Keeps beside, but old of little cargo boats That haven't any man, they've got to do Business first and make the most they can The Liner She's a Lady and if a war should come The man award her husband and he bid her stay at home But old of little cargo boats that fill with every tide He'd have to up and fight for them For they are England's pride The Liner She's a Lady, but if she wasn't made There still would be the cargo boats for home and foreign trade The man awards her husband, but if we wasn't there He wouldn't have to fight at all for home and friends so dear Home and friends so dear Jenny, hanging round the yard All the way by frat and tram down to Portsmouth's Ard Anything for business and we're grown old Home and friends so dear Jenny, waiting in the cold End of poem, this recording is in the public domain Mahallan's Contract by Rudyard Kipling Read for LibriVox.org by Linda Marie Nielsen Vancouver, B.C. The fear was on the cattle, for the gale was on the sea And the pens broke up on the lower deck And let the creatures free And the lights went out on the lower deck And no one down but me I had been singing to them To keep them quiet there For the lower deck is the dangerous Requiring constant care And give to be as the strongest man Though used to drink and swear I see my chance was certain of being Orned or trod But the lower deck was packed with steers Thicker in peas in a pod And more pens broke at every roll So I made a contract with God And by the terms of the contract As I have read the same If he got me to port alive I would exalt his name And praise his holy majesty And further orders came He saved me from the cattle And he saved me from the sea For they found me tween to drounded ones Where the roll had landed me And a four-inch crack on top of my head As crazy as could be But that were done by a staunchen And not by a bullock at all I lay still for seven weeks Confelessing of the fall And reading the shiny scripture texts In the seamen's hospital And I spoke to God of our contract And he says to my prayer I never puts on my ministers No more than they can bear So back you to the cattle boats And preach my gospel there For human life is chantsy At any kind of trade But most of all as well you know When the steers are mad afraid So you go back to the cattle boats And preach them as I've said They must quick-drinkin' And swearing They mustn't knife on a blow They must quick-gambling their wages And you must preach it so For now those boats are more like hell Than anything else I know I didn't want to do it For I knew what I should get And I wanted to preach religion Handsome and out of the wet But the word of the Lord were lean on me I'd done what I was said I had been smitten and bruised As warned would be the case And turned my cheek to the smitter Exactly as scripture says But following that I knocked him down And led him up to grace And we have preaching on Sundays Whenever the sea is calm And I use no knife nor pistol And I never take no harm For the Lord abideth back of me To guide my fighting arm And I sign for four pound ten a month And save the money clear And I am in charge of the lower deck And I never lose a steer And I believe in Almighty God And I preach his gospel here The skippers say I'm crazy But I can prove him wrong For I am in charge of the lower deck With all that doth belong Which they would not give to a lunatic And the competition so strong End of poem This recording is in the public domain Anchor song by Rudyard Kipling Read for LibreVox.org By Linda Bray Nielsen Vancouver, B.C. From many inventions Hey, walk her round Heave ah, heave her short again Over, snatch her over There, and hold her on the pall Lose all sail And brace your yards aback and full Ready, jib, to pay her off And heave short all Well, off fare you well We can stay no more with you, my love Down, set down your liquor And your girl from off your knee For the wind has come to say You must take me while you may If you'd go to Mother Kerry Walk her down to Mother Kerry Oh, we're bound to Mother Kerry Where she feeds her chicks at sea Hey, walk her round Break ah, break it out, oh that Break our store-board bower out A peek, a wash, and clear Port, port she casts With the harbour-royal beneath her foot And that's the last obotn We shall see this year Well, off fare you well For we've got to take her out again Take her out in ballast Riding light and cargo-free And it's time to clear and quit In the hauser grips the bit So we'll pay you with the foresheet And a promise from the sea Hey, tally on Aft and walk away with her Handsome to the cat-head now Oh, tally on the fall Stop seas and fish And easy on the davit guy Up, well up the fluke of her In an inborn hull Well, off fare you well For the channel winds took Hold of us Choking down our voices as we snatch The gas gets free And it's blowing up for night And she's dropping light on light And she's snorting under bonnets For a breath of open sea Wheel full and by But she'll smell her road alone tonight Sick she is and harbour sick Oh, sick to clear the land Roll down to breast With the old red ensign over us Carry on and thrash her out With all she'll stand Well, off fare you well And it's uschant Gives the door to us Whirling like a windmill On the dirty scud to lee Till the last, last flicker goes From the tumbling water rose And we're off to mother Carrie Walk her down to mother Carrie Oh, we're bound for mother Carrie Where she feeds her chicks at sea End of poem This recording is in The Public Domain The Sea Wife by Rudyard Kipling Read for LibreVox.org By Linda Marie Nielsen Vancouver, B.C. There dwells a wife by the northern gate And a wealthy wife is she She breeds a breed of roving men And casts them over sea And some are drowned in deep water And some in sight, oh shore And word goes back to the weary wife And ever she sends more For since that wife had gate and gear And hearth and garth and beild She willed her sons to the white harvest And that is a bitter yield She wills her sons to the wet plowing To ride the horse of tree And sin her sons come home again Far spent from out the sea The good wife's sons come home again With little in their hands But the lore of men that had dwelt With men in the new and naked lands But faith of men that have brothered men More than the easy breath And the eyes, oh men, that have read We men in the open books of death Rich are they rich in wonders seen But poor in the goods, oh men So what they have got by the skin Oh their teeth they sell for their teeth again For whether they lose to the naked skin Or win to their hearth's desire They tell it all to the weary wife That nods beside the fire Her hearth is wide to every wind That makes the white ash spin And tide and tide and tween the tides Her sons go out and in Out with great mirth that do desire Hazard of trackless ways In with content to wait their watch And warm before the blaze And some return by failing light And some in waking dream For she hears the heels of the dripping ghosts That ride the rough roof beam Home they come home from all the ports The living and the dead The good wife's sons come home again Blessing on their head The earth is full of anger The seas are dark with wrath The nations in their harness Against our path Or yet we lose the legions Or yet we draw the blade Jehovah of the thunders Lord God of battles aid High lust and froward bearing Proud heart rebellious brow Deaf ear and soul uncaring We seek thy mercy now The sinner that foreswore thee The fool that passed thee by Our times are known before thee Lord grant us strength to die For those who kneel beside us At alters not thine own Who lacks the lights that guide us Lord let their faith atone If wrong we did to call them By honour bound they came Let not thy wrath befall them But deal to us the blame From panic, pride, and terror Revenge that knows no rain Light haste and lawless error Protect us yet again Cloak thou our undeserving Make firm the shuddering breath In silence and unswerving lesser death A merry pierced with sorrow Remember, reach, and save The soul that comes to-morrow Before the God that gave Since each was born of women For each at utter need True comet and two fulmin Madonna intercede And now their vanguard gathers Now we face the fray As thou dist help our fathers Help thou our host today Fulfilled of signs and wonders In life and death made clear Jehovah of the thunders Lord God of battles hear End of poem This recording is in the public domain Through the true romance By Rudyard Kipling Read for LibberVox.org By Linda Marie Nielsen Vancouver, B.C. From many inventions Thy face is far from this our war Our call and counter-cry I shall not find thee quick and kind Nor know thee till I die Enough for me in dreams to see And touch thy garments hem Thy feet have trod so near to God I may not follow them Though wantonness if men profess They weary of thy parts And let them die at blasphemy And perish with their arts But we that love But we that prove Thine excellence august While we adore, discover more The perfect, wise and just Since spoken words, man's spirit stirred Beyond his belly need What is, is thine of fair design In thought and craft indeed Each stroke a rite of toil and fight That was and that shall be And hope too high, wherefore we die Has birth and worth in thee Who holds by thee hath heaven in fee To gild his dross thereby And knowledge sure that he endure A child until he die For to make plain that man's disdain But new beauty's birth For to possess in loneliness The joy of all the earth As thou didst teach all lovers' speech And life on mystery So shalt thou rule by every school To love and longing die Who was or yet the lights were set A whisper in the void Who shalt be sung through planets young When this is clean destroyed Beyond the bounds are staring grounds Across the pressing dark The children wise of outer skies Look hitherward and mark A light that shifts, a glare that drifts Rekindling thus and thus Not all forlorn for thou hast borne Strange tales to them of us Time hath no tide, but must abide The servant of thy will Tide hath no time for thy rhyme The ringing stars stand still Region of spheres that lock our fears Are hopes invisible O toise sirtees at thy decrees We fashion heaven and hell Pure wisdom hath no certain path That lacks thy mourning, ein And captains bold by thee controlled Most like to God's design Thou art the voice to kingly boys To lift them through the fight And comfort tress of unsuccess To give the dead good night Avail to draw to ex-god his law And man's infirmity A shadow kind to dumb and blind The shambles where we die A sum to trick the arithmetic To base of theging odds The spur of trust, the curb of lust Thou hand-made of the gods O charity all patiently Abiding wrack and scathe O faith that meets ten thousand cheats Yet drops no jot of faith Devil and brute thou dost Transmute to higher lordlier show Who art ensuth that lovely truth The careless angels know Thy face is far from this Our war, our call, and counter-cry I may not find thee quick and kind Nor meet thee till I die Yet may I look with heart unshook On blow brought home or missed Yet may I hear with equal ear The clarions down the list Yet set my lance above miss chance And bride the barrier O hit or miss how little tis My lady is not there End of poem This recording is in the public domain To our private taste There is always something a little exotic Almost artificial in songs which Under an English aspect and dress Are yet so manifestly the product Of other skies They affect us like translations The very fauna and flora are alien Remote. The dog's tooth violet Is but an ill substitute For the wrath primrose Nor can we ever believe That the wood robin sings As sweetly in April as the English thrush The anthenium By my English posies Kent and Suri May Violets of the undercliff Wet with channel spray Cow slips from a Devon Coom Midland furs a fire By my English posies Ann I'll sell your heart's desire By my English posies You that scorn the May Won't you greet a friend from home Half the world away Green against the draggled drift Faint and frail and first By my northern blood root Ann I'll know where you were nursed Robin down the logging road whistles Come to me Spring has found the maple grove The sap is running free All the winds o' Canada call The plowing rain Take the flower and turn the hour And kiss your love again By my English posies Here to match your need By a tuft of royal heath By a bunch of weed Wait as sand of Missenburg Spun before the gale By my heath and the leaves Ann I'll tell you whence you hail Under hot Constantine abroad The vineyards lie Throne and thorn the aching burg Props the speckless sky Slow below the wind-bird furs Trails the tilted wane Take the flower and turn the hour And kiss your love again By my English posies You that will not turn By my hotwood comatis By a front o' fern Gathered where the urskine leaps Down the road to Lorne By my Christmas creeper Ann I'll say where you were born West away from Melbourne Dust holidays begin They that mock at Paradise Woo at Coralyn Through the great South Otway Gums sings the great South Main Take the flower and turn the hour And kiss your love again By my English posies Here's your choice unsold By a blood-red myrtle bloom By the co-highs gold Flung for gift on Taupo's face Sign that spring is come By my clinging myrtle Ann I'll give you back your home Broom behind the windy town Pollen o' the pine Bellbird in the leafy deep Where the rattas twine Furn above the saddle bow Flax upon the plain Take the flower and turn the hour And kiss your love again By my English posies Ye that have your own Tie them for a brother's sake Over seas alone Weed ye trample underfoot Floods his heart a brim Bird ye never heeded Oh, she calls his dead to him Far and far our homes are set Round the seven seas Woe for us if we forget We that hold by these Unto each his mother beach Bloom and bird and land Masters of the seven seas Oh, love and understand End of poem, this recording Is in the public domain