| |
| “BLESSÈD be the English and all their ways and works. | |
| Cursèd be the Infidels, Hereticks, and Turks!” | |
| “Amen,” quo’ Jobson, “but where I used to lie | |
| Was neither Candle, Bell nor Book to curse my brethren by: | |
| |
| “But a palm-tree in full bearing, bowing down, bowing down, | 5 |
| To a surf that drove unsparing at the brown, walled town— | |
| Conches in a temple, oil-lamps in a dome— | |
| And a low moon out of Africa said: ‘This way home!’” | |
| |
| “Blessèd be the English and all that they profess. | |
| Cursèd be the Savages that prance in nakedness!” | 10 |
| “Amen,” quo’ Jobson, “but where I used to lie | |
| Was neither shirt nor pantaloons to catch my brethren by: | |
| |
| “But a well-wheel slowly creaking, going round, going round, | |
| By a water-channel leaking over drowned, warm ground— | |
| Parrots very busy in the trellised pepper-vine— | 15 |
| And a high sun over Asia shouting: ‘Rise and shine!’” | |
| |
| “Blessèd be the English and everything they own. | |
| Cursèd be the Infidels that bow to wood and stone!” | |
| “Amen,” quo’ Jobson, “but where I used to lie | |
| Was neither pew nor Gospelleer to save my brethren by: | 20 |
| |
| “But a desert stretched and stricken, left and right, left and right, | |
| Where the piled mirages thicken under white-hot light— | |
| A skull beneath a sand-hill and a viper coiled inside— | |
| And a red wind out of Libya roaring: ‘Run and hide!’” | |
| |
| “Blessèd be the English and all they make or do. | 25 |
| Cursèd be the Hereticks who doubt that this is true!” | |
| “Amen,” quo’ Jobson, “but where I mean to die | |
| Is neither rule nor calliper to judge the matter by: | |
| |
| “But Himalaya heavenward-heading, sheer and vast, sheer and vast, | |
| In a million summits bedding on the last world’s past— | 30 |
| A certain sacred mountain where the scented cedars climb, | |
| And—the feet of my Beloved hurrying back through Time!” | |
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