The Years Between

Rudyard Kipling

The Years Between

DEDICATION

TO THE SEVEN WATCHMEN

Seven Watchmen sitting in a tower,Watching what had come upon mankind,Showed the Man the Glory and the Power,And bade him shape the Kingdom to his mind.'All things on Earth your will shall win you'('Twas so their counsel ran)'But the Kingdom – the Kingdom is within you,'Said the Man's own mind to the Man.For time, and some time —As it was in the bitter years before,So it shall be in the over-sweetened hour —That a man's mind is wont to tell him moreThan Seven Watchmen sitting in a tower.

THE ROWERS

1902(When Germany proposed that England should help her in a naval demonstration to collect debts from Venezuela.)The banked oars fell an hundred strong,And backed and threshed and ground,But bitter was the rowers' songAs they brought the war-boat round.They had no heart for the rally and roarThat makes the whale-bath smoke —When the great blades cleave and hold and leaveAs one on the racing stroke.They sang: – 'What reckoning do you keep,And steer her by what star,If we come unscathed from the Southern deepTo be wrecked on a Baltic bar?'Last night you swore our voyage was done,But seaward still we go,And you tell us now of a secret vowYou have made with an open foe!'That we must lie off a lightless coastAnd haul and back and veer,At the will of the breed that have wronged us mostFor a year and a year and a year!'There was never a shame in ChristendieThey laid not to our door —And you say we must take the winter seaAnd sail with them once more?'Look South! The gale is scarce o'erpastThat stripped and laid us down,When we stood forth but they stood fastAnd prayed to see us drown'Our dead they mocked are scarcely cold,Our wounds are bleeding yet —And you tell us now that our strength is soldTo help them press for a debt'''Neath all the flags of all mankindThat use upon the seas,Was there no other fleet to findThat you strike hands with these?'Of evil times that men can chooseOn evil fate to fall,What brooding Judgment let you looseTo pick the worst of all?'In sight of peace – from the Narrow SeasO'er half the world to run —With a cheated crew, to league anewWith the Goth and the shameless Hun!'

THE VETERANS

[Written for the gathering of survivors of the Indian Mutiny, Albert Hall, 1907.]To-day, across our fathers' graves,The astonished years revealThe remnant of that desperate hostWhich cleansed our East with steel.Hail and farewell! We greet you here,With tears that none will scorn —O Keepers of the House of old,Or ever we were born!One service more we dare to ask —Pray for us, heroes, pray,That when Fate lays on us our taskWe do not shame the Day!

THE DECLARATION OF LONDON

JUNE 29, 1911('On the re-assembling of Parliament after the Coronation, the Government have no intention of allowing their followers to vote according to their convictions on the Declaration of London, but insist on a strictly party vote' —Daily Papers.)We were all one heart and one raceWhen the Abbey trumpets blew.For a moment's breathing-spaceWe had forgotten youNow you return to your honoured placePanting to shame us anew.We have walked with the Ages dead —With our Past alive and ablaze,And you bid us pawn our honour for bread;This day of all the days!And you cannot wait till our guests are sped,Or last week's wreath decays?The light is still in our eyesOf Faith and Gentlehood,Of Service and Sacrifice,And it does not match our mood,To turn so soon to your treacheriesThat starve our land of her food.Our ears still carry the soundOf our once Imperial seas,Exultant after our King was crowned,Beneath the sun and the breeze.It is too early to have them boundOr sold at your decrees.Wait till the memory goes,Wait till the visions fade,We may betray in time, God knows,But we would not have it said,When you make report to our scornful foes,That we kissed as we betrayed!

ULSTER

1912('Their webs shall not become garments, neither shall they cover themselves with their works; their works are works of iniquity, and the act of violence is in their hands.' —Isaiah lix 6)The dark eleventh hourDraws on and sees us soldTo every evil powerWe fought against of old.Rebellion, rapine, hate,Oppression, wrong and greedAre loosed to rule our fate,By England's act and deed.The Faith in which we stand,The laws we made and guard,Our honour, lives, and landAre given for rewardTo Murder done by night,To Treason taught by day,To folly, sloth, and spite,And we are thrust away.The blood our fathers spilt,Our love, our toils, our pains,Are counted us for guilt,And only bind our chains.Before an Empire's eyesThe traitor claims his price.What need of further lies?We are the sacrifice.We asked no more than leaveTo reap where we had sown,Through good and ill to cleaveTo our own flag and throne.Now England's shot and steelBeneath that flag must showHow loyal hearts should kneelTo England's oldest foe.We know the war preparedOn every peaceful home,We know the hells declaredFor such as serve not Rome —The terror, threats, and dreadIn market, hearth, and field —We know, when all is said,We perish if we yield.Believe, we dare not boast,Believe, we do not fear —We stand to pay the costIn all that men hold dear.What answer from the North?One Law, one Land, one Throne.If England drive us forthWe shall not fall alone.

THE COVENANT

1914We thought we ranked above the chance of ill.Others might fall, not we, for we were wise —Merchants in freedom. So, of our free-willWe let our servants drug our strength with lies.The pleasure and the poison had its wayOn us as on the meanest, till we learnedThat he who lies will steal, who steals will slay.Neither God's judgment nor man's heart was turned.Yet there remains His Mercy – to be soughtThrough wrath and peril till we cleanse the wrongBy that last right which our forefathers claimedWhen their Law failed them and its stewards were bought.This is our cause. God help us, and make strongOur wills to meet Him later, unashamed!

FRANCE

1913Broke to every known mischance, lifted over allBy the light sane joy of life, the buckler of the Gaul;Furious in luxury, merciless in toil,Terrible with strength that draws from her tireless soil;Strictest judge of her own worth, gentlest of man's mind,First to follow Truth and last to leave old Truths behind —France, beloved of every soul that loves its fellow-kind!Ere our birth (rememberest thou?) side by side we layFretting in the womb of Rome to begin our fray.Ere men knew our tongues apart, our one task was known —Each must mould the other's fate as he wrought his ownTo this end we stirred mankind till all Earth was ours,Till our world-end strifes begat wayside thrones and powers —Puppets that we made or broke to bar the other's path —Necessary, outpost folk, hirelings of our wrathTo this end we stormed the seas, tack for tack, and burstThrough the doorways of new worlds, doubtful which was first,Hand on hilt (rememberest thou?) ready for the blow —Sure, whatever else we met, we should meet our foe.Spurred or balked at every stride by the other's strength,So we rode the ages down and every ocean's length!Where did you refrain from us or we refrain from you?Ask the wave that has not watched war between us two!Others held us for a while, but with weaker charms,These we quitted at the call for each other's arms.Eager toward the known delight, equally we strove —Each the other's mystery, terror, need, and loveTo each other's open court with our proofs we came.Where could we find honour else, or men to test our claim?From each other's throat we wrenched – valour's last reward —That extorted word of praise gasped 'twixt lunge and guard.In each other's cup we poured mingled blood and tears,Brutal joys, unmeasured hopes, intolerable fears —All that soiled or salted life for a thousand years.Proved beyond the need of proof, matched in every clime,O companion, we have lived greatly through all time!Yoked in knowledge and remorse, now we come to rest,Laughing at old villainies that Time has turned to jest,Pardoning old necessities no pardon can efface —That undying sin we shared in Rouen marketplace.Now we watch the new years shape, wondering if they holdFiercer lightnings in their heart than we launched of old.Now we hear new voices rise, question, boast or gird,As we raged (rememberest thou?) when our crowds were stirred,Now we count new keels afloat, and new hosts on land,Massed like ours (rememberest thou?) when our strokes were planned.We were schooled for dear life's sake, to know each other's bladeWhat can blood and iron make more than we have made?We have learned by keenest use to know each other's mind.What shall blood and iron loose that we cannot bind?We who swept each other's coast, sacked each other's home,Since the sword of Brennus clashed on the scales at Rome,Listen, count and close again, wheeling girth to girth,In the linked and steadfast guard set for peace on earth!Broke to every known mischance, lifted over allBy the light sane joy of life, the buckler of the Gaul;Furious in luxury, merciless in toil,Terrible with strength renewed from a tireless soil;Strictest judge of her own worth, gentlest of man's mind,First to face the Truth and last to leave old Truths behind —France, beloved of every soul that loves or serves its kind!

'FOR ALL WE HAVE AND ARE'

1914For all we have and are,For all our children's fate,Stand up and take the war,The Hun is at the gate!Our world has passed away,In wantonness o'erthrown.There is nothing left to-dayBut steel and fire and stone!Though all we knew depart,The old Commandments stand: —'In courage keep your heart,In strength lift up your hand.'Once more we hear the wordThat sickened earth of old: —'No law except the SwordUnsheathed and uncontrolled.'Once more it knits mankind,Once more the nations goTo meet and break and bindA crazed and driven foe.Comfort, content, delight,The ages' slow-bought gain,They shrivelled in a night.Only ourselves remainTo face the naked daysIn silent fortitude,Through perils and dismaysRenewed and re-renewed.Though all we made depart,The old Commandments stand; —'In patience keep your heart,In strength lift up your hand.'No easy hope or liesShall bring us to our goal,But iron sacrificeOf body, will, and soul.There is but one task for all —One life for each to giveWho stands if Freedom fall?Who dies if England live?

A SONG IN STORM

Be well assured that on our sideThe abiding oceans fight,Though headlong wind and heaping tideMake us their sport to-night.By force of weather not of warIn jeopardy we steer,Then welcome Fate's discourtesyWhereby it shall appear,How in all time of our distress,And our deliverance too,The game is more than the player of the game,And the ship is more than the crew.Out of the mist into the mirkThe glimmering combers roll.Almost these mindless waters workAs though they had a soul —Almost as though they leagued to whelmOur flag beneath their greenThen welcome Fate's discourtesyWhereby it shall be seen, etc.Be well assured, though wave and windHave weightier blows in store,That we who keep the watch assignedMust stand to it the more;And as our streaming bows rebukeEach billow's baulked career,Sing, welcome Fate's discourtesyWhereby it is made clear, etc.No matter though our deck be sweptAnd masts and timber crack —We can make good all loss exceptThe loss of turning back.So, 'twixt these Devils and our deepLet courteous trumpets sound,To welcome Fate's discourtesyWhereby it will be found, etc.Be well assured, though in our powerIs nothing left to giveBut chance and place to meet the hour,And leave to strive to live,Till these dissolve our Order holds,Our Service binds us here.Then welcome Fate's discourtesyWhereby it is made clear,How in all time of our distress,And in our triumph too,The game is more than the player of the game,And the ship is more than the crew!

THE OUTLAWS

1914Through learned and laborious yearsThey set themselves to findFresh terrors and undreamed-of fearsTo heap upon mankind.All that they drew from Heaven aboveOr digged from earth beneath,They laid into their treasure-troveAnd arsenals of death:While, for well-weighed advantage sake,Ruler and ruled alikeBuilt up the faith they meant to breakWhen the fit hour should strike.They traded with the careless earth,And good return it gave;They plotted by their neighbour's hearthThe means to make him slave.When all was ready to their handThey loosed their hidden sword,And utterly laid waste a landTheir oath was pledged to guard.Coldly they went about to raiseTo life and make more dreadAbominations of old days,That men believed were dead.They paid the price to reach their goalAcross a world in flame;But their own hate slew their own soulBefore that victory came.

ZION

The Doorkeepers of Zion,They do not always standIn helmet and whole armour,With halberds in their hand,But, being sure of Zion,And all her mysteries,They rest awhile in Zion,Sit down and smile in Zion;Ay, even jest in Zion;In Zion, at their ease.The Gatekeepers of Baal,They dare not sit or lean,But fume and fret and postureAnd foam and curse between;For being bound to Baal,Whose sacrifice is vain.Their rest is scant with Baal,They glare and pant for Baal,They mouth and rant for Baal,For Baal in their pain!But we will go to Zion,By choice and not through dread,With these our present comradesAnd those our present dead;And, being free of ZionIn both her fellowships,Sit down and sup in Zion —Stand up and drink in ZionWhatever cup in ZionIs offered to our lips!

LORD ROBERTS

1914He passed in the very battle-smokeOf the war that he had descried.Three hundred mile of cannon spokeWhen the Master-Gunner died.He passed to the very sound of the guns;But, before his eye grew dim,He had seen the faces of the sonsWhose sires had served with him.He had touched their sword-hilts and greeted eachWith the old sure word of praise;And there was virtue in touch and speechAs it had been in old days.So he dismissed them and took his rest,And the steadfast spirit went forthBetween the adoring East and WestAnd the tireless guns of the North.Clean, simple, valiant, well-beloved,Flawless in faith and fame,Whom neither ease nor honours movedAn hair's-breadth from his aim.Never again the war-wise face,The weighed and urgent wordThat pleaded in the market-place —Pleaded and was not heard!Yet from his life a new life springsThrough all the hosts to come,And Glory is the least of thingsThat follow this man home.

THE QUESTION

1916Brethren, how shall it fare with meWhen the war is laid aside,If it be proven that I am heFor whom a world has died?If it be proven that all my good,And the greater good I will make,Were purchased me by a multitudeWho suffered for my sake?That I was delivered by mere mankindVowed to one sacrifice,And not, as I hold them, battle-blind,But dying with open eyes?That they did not ask me to draw the swordWhen they stood to endure their lot —That they only looked to me for a word,And I answered I knew them not?If it be found, when the battle clears,Their death has set me free,Then how shall I live with myself through the yearsWhich they have bought for me?Brethren, how must it fare with me,Or how am I justified,If it be proven that I am heFor whom mankind has died,If it be proven that I am heWho being questioned denied?

THE CHOICE

1917(THE AMERICAN SPIRIT SPEAKS)To the Judge of Right and WrongWith Whom fulfilment liesOur purpose and our power belong,Our faith and sacrifice.Let Freedom's Land rejoice!Our ancient bonds are riven;Once more to us the eternal choiceOf Good or Ill is given.Not at a little cost,Hardly by prayer or tears,Shall we recover the road we lostIn the drugged and doubting years.But, after the fires and the wrath,But, after searching and pain,His Mercy opens us a pathTo live with ourselves again.In the Gates of Death rejoice!We see and hold the good —Bear witness, Earth, we have made our choiceWith Freedom's brotherhood!Then praise the Lord Most HighWhose Strength hath saved us whole,Who bade us choose that the Flesh should dieAnd not the living Soul!To the God in Man displayed —Where e'er we see that Birth,Be love and understanding paidAs never yet on earth!To the Spirit that moves in Man,On Whom all worlds depend,Be Glory since our world beganAnd service to the end!

THE HOLY WAR

1917('For here lay the excellent wisdom of him that built Mansoul that the walls could never be broken down nor hurt by the most mighty adverse potentate unless the townsmen gave consent thereto' – Bunyan's Holy War)A tinker out of Bedford,A vagrant oft in quod,A private under Fairfax,A minister of God —Two hundred years and thirtyEre Armageddon cameHis single hand portrayed it,And Bunyan was his name!He mapped, for those who follow,The world in which we are —'This famous town of Mansoul'That takes the Holy WarHer true and traitor people,The gates along her wall,From Eye Gate unto Feel Gate,John Bunyan showed them all.All enemy divisions,Recruits of every class,And highly-screened positionsFor flame or poison-gas,The craft that we call modern,The crimes that we call new,John Bunyan had 'em typed and filedIn Sixteen Eighty-twoLikewise the Lords of LoosenessThat hamper faith and works,The Perseverance-Doubters,And Present-Comfort shirks,With brittle intellectualsWho crack beneath a strain —John Bunyan met that helpful setIn Charles the Second's reign.Emmanuel's vanguard dyingFor right and not for rights,My Lord Apollyon lyingTo the State-kept Stockholmites,The Pope, the swithering Neutrals,The Kaiser and his Gott —Their rôles, their goals, their naked souls —He knew and drew the lot.Now he hath left his quarters,In Bunhill Fields to lie.The wisdom that he taught usIs proven prophecy —One watchword through our armies,One answer from our lands —'No dealings with DiabolusAs long as Mansoul stands.A pedlar from a hovel,The lowest of the low,The father of the Novel,Salvation's first Defoe,Eight blinded generationsEre Armageddon came,He showed us how to meet it,And Bunyan was his name!

THE HOUSES

(A SONG OF THE DOMINIONS)1898'Twixt my house and thy house the pathway is broad,In thy house or my house is half the world's hoard;By my house and thy house hangs all the world's fate,On thy house and my house lies half the world's hate.For my house and thy house no help shall we findSave thy house and my house – kin cleaving to kind:If my house be taken, thine tumbleth anon,If thy house be forfeit, mine followeth soon.'Twixt my house and thy house what talk can there beOf headship or lordship, or service or fee?Since my house to thy house no greater can sendThan thy house to my house – friend comforting friend;And thy house to my house no meaner can bringThan my house to thy house – King counselling King.

RUSSIA TO THE PACIFISTS

God rest you, peaceful gentlemen, let nothing you dismay,But – leave your sports a little while – the dead are borne this way!Armies dead and Cities dead, past all count or care.God rest you, merry gentlemen, what portent see you there?Singing: – Break ground for a wearied hostThat have no ground to keep.Give them the rest that they covet most,And who shall next to sleep, good sirs,In such a trench to sleep?God rest you, peaceful gentlemen, but give us leave to pass.We go to dig a nation's grave as great as England was.For this Kingdom and this Glory and this Power and this PrideThree hundred years it flourished – in three hundred days it died.Singing: – Pour oil for a frozen throng,That lie about the ways.Give them the warmth they have lacked so longAnd what shall be next to blaze, good sirs,On such a pyre to blaze?God rest you, thoughtful gentlemen, and send your sleep is light!Remains of this dominion no shadow, sound, or sight,Except the sound of weeping and the sight of burning fire,And the shadow of a people that is trampled into mire.Singing: – Break bread for a starving folkThat perish in the field.Give them their food as they take the yoke …And who shall be next to yield, good sirs,For such a bribe to yield?God rest you, merry gentlemen, and keep you in your mirth!Was ever kingdom turned so soon to ashes, blood, and earth?'Twixt the summer and the snow – seeding-time and frost —Arms and victual, hope and counsel, name and country lost!Singing: —Let down by the foot and the head —Shovel and smooth it all!So do we bury a Nation dead …And who shall be next to fall, good sirs,With your good help to fall?

THE IRISH GUARDS

1918We're not so old in the Army List,But we're not so young at our trade,For we had the honour at FontenoyOf meeting the Guards' Brigade.'Twas Lally, Dillon, Bulkeley, Clare,And Lee that led us then,And after a hundred and seventy yearsWe're fighting for France again!Old Days! The wild geese are flighting,Head to the storm as they faced it before!For where there are Irish there's bound to be fighting,And when there's no fighting, it's Ireland no more!Ireland no more!The fashion's all for khaki now,But once through France we wentFull-dressed in scarlet Army cloth,The English – left at GhentThey're fighting on our side to-day.But, before they changed their clothes,The half of Europe knew our fame,As all of Ireland knows!Old Days! The wild geese are flying,Head to the storm as they faced it before!For where there are Irish there's memory undying,And when we forget, it is Ireland no more!Ireland no more!From Barry Wood to Gouzeaucourt,From Boyne to Pilkem Ridge,The ancient days come back no moreThan water under the bridgeBut the bridge it stands and the water runsAs red as yesterday,And the Irish move to the sound of the gunsLike salmon to the sea.Old Days! The wild geese are ranging,Head to the storm as they faced it before!For where there are Irish their hearts are unchanging,And when they are changed, it is Ireland no more!Ireland no more!We're not so old in the Army List,But we're not so new in the ring,For we carried our packs with Marshal SaxeWhen Louis was our King.But Douglas Haig's our Marshal nowAnd we're King George's men,And after one hundred and seventy yearsWe're fighting for France again!Ah, France! And did we stand by you,When life was made splendid with gifts and rewards?Ah, France! And will we deny youIn the hour of your agony, Mother of Swords?Old Days! The wild geese are flighting,Head to the storm as they faced it before!For where there are Irish there's loving and fighting,And when we stop either, it's Ireland no more!Ireland no more!

A NATIVITY

1916The Babe was laid in the MangerBetween the gentle kine —All safe from cold and danger —'But it was not so with mine.(With mine! With mine!)'Is it well with the child, is it well?'The waiting mother prayed.'For I know not how he fell,And I know not where he is laid.'A Star stood forth in Heaven,The watchers ran to seeThe Sign of the Promise given —'But there comes no sign to me.(To me! To me!)'My child died in the dark.Is it well with the child, is it well?There was none to tend him or mark,And I know not how he fell.'The Cross was raised on high;The Mother grieved beside —'But the Mother saw Him dieAnd took Him when He died.(He died! He died!)'Seemly and undefiledHis burial-place was made —Is it well, is it well with the child?For I know not where he is laid.'On the dawning of Easter DayComes Mary Magdalene;But the Stone was rolled away,And the Body was not within —(Within! Within!)'Ah, who will answer my word?'The broken mother prayed.'They have taken away my Lord,And I know not where He is laid.'The Star stands forth in Heaven.The watchers watch in vainFor a Sign of the Promise givenOf peace on Earth again —(Again! Again!)'But I know for Whom he fell' —The steadfast mother smiled'Is it well with the child – is it well?It is well – it is well with the child!'

EN-DOR

'Behold there is a woman that hath a familiar spirit at En-dor'1 Samuel XXVIII 7The road to En-dor is easy to treadFor Mother or yearning Wife.There, it is sure, we shall meet our DeadAs they were even in life.Earth has not dreamed of the blessing in storeFor desolate hearts on the road to En-dor.Whispers shall comfort us out of the dark —Hands – ah God! – that we knew!Visions and voices – look and heark! —Shall prove that our tale is true,And that those who have passed to the further shoreMay be hailed – at a price – on the road to En-dor.But they are so deep in their new eclipseNothing they say can reach,Unless it be uttered by alien lipsAnd framed in a stranger's speech.The son must send word to the mother that bore,Through an hireling's mouth. 'Tis the rule of En-dor.And not for nothing these gifts are shownBy such as delight our dead.They must twitch and stiffen and slaver a groanEre the eyes are set in the head,And the voice from the belly begins. ThereforeWe pay them a wage where they ply at En-dor.Even so, we have need of faithAnd patience to follow the clue.Often, at first, what the dear one saithIs babble, or jest, or untrue.(Lying spirits perplex us soreTill our loves – and our lives – are well known at En-dor)…Oh the road to En-dor is the oldest roadAnd the craziest road of all!Straight it runs to the Witch's abode,As it did in the days of Saul,And nothing has changed of the sorrow in storeFor such as go down on the road to En-dor!