Songs from Books. Rudyard Kipling

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      Oh, light was the world that he weighed in his hands!

      Oh, heavy the tale of his fiefs and his lands!

      He has gone from the guddee and put on the shroud,

      And departed in guise of bairagi avowed!

      Now the white road to Delhi is mat for his feet.

      The sal and the kikar must guard him from heat.

      His home is the camp, and the waste, and the crowd —

      He is seeking the Way as bairagi avowed!

      He has looked upon Man, and his eyeballs are clear —

      (There was One; there is One, and but One, saith Kabir);

      The Red Mist of Doing has thinned to a cloud —

      He has taken the Path for bairagi avowed!

      To learn and discern of his brother the clod,

      Of his brother the brute, and his brother the God,

      He has gone from the council and put on the shroud

      ('Can ye hear?' saith Kabir), a bairagi avowed!

      Our Lord Who did the Ox command

        To kneel to Judah's King,

      He binds His frost upon the land

        To ripen it for Spring —

      To ripen it for Spring, good sirs,

        According to His Word;

      Which well must be as ye can see —

        And who shall judge the Lord?

      When we poor fenmen skate the ice

        Or shiver on the wold,

      We hear the cry of a single tree

        That breaks her heart in the cold —

      That breaks her heart in the cold, good sirs,

        And rendeth by the board;

      Which well must be as ye can see —

        And who shall judge the Lord?

      Her wood is crazed and little worth

        Excepting as to burn,

      That we may warm and make our mirth

        Until the Spring return —

      Until the Spring return, good sirs.

        When people walk abroad;

      Which well must be as ye can see —

        And who shall judge the Lord?

      God bless the master of this house.

        And all who sleep therein!

      And guard the fens from pirate folk.

        And keep us all from sin,

      To walk in honesty, good sirs,

        Of thought and deed and word!

      Which shall befriend our latter end —

        And who shall judge the Lord?

      My new-cut ashlar takes the light

      Where crimson-blank the windows flare.

      By my own work before the night,

      Great Overseer, I make my prayer.

      If there be good in that I wrought,

      Thy Hand compelled it, Master, Thine —

      Where I have failed to meet Thy Thought

      I know, through Thee, the blame was mine.

      One instant's toil to Thee denied

      Stands all Eternity's offence.

      Of that I did with Thee to guide

      To Thee, through Thee, be excellence.

      The depth and dream of my desire,

      The bitter paths wherein I stray —

      Thou knowest Who hath made the Fire,

      Thou knowest Who hast made the Clay.

      Who, lest all thought of Eden fade,

      Bring'st Eden to the craftsman's brain —

      Godlike to muse o'er his own Trade

      And manlike stand with God again!

      One stone the more swings into place

      In that dread Temple of Thy worth.

      It is enough that, through Thy Grace,

      I saw nought common on Thy Earth.

      Take not that vision from my ken —

      Oh whatsoe'er may spoil or speed.

      Help me to need no aid from men

      That I may help such men as need!

      Eddi, priest of St. Wilfrid

        In the chapel at Manhood End,

      Ordered a midnight service

        For such as cared to attend.

      But the Saxons were keeping Christmas,

        And the night was stormy as well.

      Nobody came to service

        Though Eddi rang the bell.

      'Wicked weather for walking,'

        Said Eddi of Manhood End.

      'But I must go on with the service

        For such as care to attend.'

      The altar-candles were lighted, —

        An old marsh donkey came,

      Bold as a guest invited,

        And stared at the guttering flame.

      The storm beat on at the windows,

        The water splashed on the floor,

      And a wet, yoke-weary bullock

        Pushed in through the open door.

      'How do I know what is greatest,

        How do I know what is least?

      That is My Father's business,'

        Said Eddi, Wilfrid's priest.

      'But СКАЧАТЬ