A great and glorious thing it is
To learn, for seven years or so,
The Lord knows what of that and this,
Ere reckoned fit to face the foe --
Jane went to Paradise:
That was only fair.
Good Sir Walter followed her,
And armed her up the stair.
Unto whose use the pregnant suns are poised,
With idiot moons and stars retracting stars?
Creep thou between -- thy coming's all unnoised.
Heaven hath her high, as Earth her baser, wars.
As I was spittin' into the Ditch aboard o' the ~Crocodile~,
I seed a man on a man-o'-war got up in the Reg'lars' style.
'E was scrapin' the paint from off of 'er plates,
an' I sez to 'im, ''Oo are you?'
What of the hunting, hunter bold?
Brother, the watch was long and cold.
What of the quarry ye went to kill?
Brother, he crops in the jungle still.
June 22, 1897
God of our fathers, known of old—
Lord of our far-flung battle-line—
Rome never looks where she treads.
Always her heavy hooves fall
On our stomachs, our hearts or our heads;
And Rome never heeds when we bawl.
'Have you news of my boy Jack? '
Not this tide.
'When d'you think that he'll come back? '
There was a Priest at Philae,
Tongue-tied, feeble, and old;
And the daily prayer to the Virgin
Was all the Office he could.