MORNING SONG IN THE JUNGLE

Ο

NE moment past our bodies cast

No shadow on the plain;

Now clear and black they stride our track,
And we run home again.

In morning hush, each rock and bush

Stands hard, and high, and raw: Then give the Call: 'Good rest to all That keep the Jungle Law!'

Now horn and pelt our peoples melt
In covert to abide;

Now, crouched and still, to cave and hill
Our Jungle Barons glide.

Now, stark and plain, Man's oxen strain,
That draw the new-yoked plough;

Now, stripped and dread, the dawn is red

Ho! Get to lair! The sun's aflare

Behind the breathing grass:

And creaking through the young bamboo
The warning whispers pass.

By day made strange, the woods we range
With blinking eyes we scan;

While down the skies the wild duck cries:
"The Day-the Day to Man!'

MORNING SONG IN THE JUNGLE

The dew is dried that drenched our hide,
Or washed about our way;

And where we drank, the puddled bank
Is crisping into clay.

The traitor Dark gives up each mark
Of stretched or hooded claw;

Then hear the Call: 'Good rest to all
That keep the Jungle Law!'

O

A CAROL

UR 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?

A CAROL

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 endAnd who shall judge the Lord?

'MY NEW-CUT ASHLAR'

Y new-cut ashlar takes the light

M

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, ThineWhere 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 hast 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!