. One hundred and one famous poems, with a prose supplement. nd the dew, Waiting the judgment day—Broidered with gold, the blue; Mellowed with gold, the gray. •So, when the summer calleth On forest and field of an equal murmur falleth The cooling drip of the rain ;Under the sod and the dew, Waiting the judgment day—Wet with the rain, the blue; Wet with the rain, the gray. Sadly, but not with upbraiding, The generous deed was done;In the storm of the years that are fading, No braver battle was won;Under the sod and the dew, Waiting the judgment day—Under the blossoms, the blue; Under
. One hundred and one famous poems, with a prose supplement. nd the dew, Waiting the judgment day—Broidered with gold, the blue; Mellowed with gold, the gray. •So, when the summer calleth On forest and field of an equal murmur falleth The cooling drip of the rain ;Under the sod and the dew, Waiting the judgment day—Wet with the rain, the blue; Wet with the rain, the gray. Sadly, but not with upbraiding, The generous deed was done;In the storm of the years that are fading, No braver battle was won;Under the sod and the dew, Waiting the judgment day—Under the blossoms, the blue; Under the garlands, the gray. No more shall the war-cry sever, Or the winding rivers be red;They banish our anger forever When they laurel the graves of our dead!Under the sod and the dew, Waiting the judgment day—Love and tears for the blue; Tears and love for the gray. Reprinted by permission fromThe Blue and the Gray andOther Verses, by Francis Copyright 1909, bvHenry Holt & Co. Page Forty ©we {£ixtnbtz& nxb. ©ne ^ffanwus Bueins. Recessional Rudyard Kipling(Born December 30, 1865; — God of our fathers, known of old—Lord of our far-flung battle line— Beneath whose awful hand we holdDominion over palm and pine— Lord God of Hosts, be with us yet, Lest we forget—lest we forget! The tumult and the shouting dies—The Captains and the Kings depart— Still stands Thine ancient sacrifice,An humble and a contrite heart. Lord God of Hosts, be with us yet, Lest we forget—lest we forget! Far-called, our navies melt away—On dune and headland sinks the fire— Lo, all our pomp of yesterdayIs one with Nineveh and Tyre! Judge of the Nations, spare us yet, Lest we forget—lest we forget! If, drunk with sight of power, we loose Wild tongues that have not Thee in awe-Such boasting as the Gentiles use, Or lesser breeds without the Law—Lord God of Hosts, be with us yet,Lest we forget—lest we forget! For heathen heart that puts her trustIn reeking tube and iro
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