Masonic works of Brother Rudyard Kipling,

Lodge of Hope and Perserverance #782,

English Constitution in Lahore, Punjab, India The Mother-Lodge

King Solomon's Banquet

If

L'Envoi

The Palace The Mother-Lodge There was Rundle, Station Master,

An' Beazeley of the Rail,

An' 'Ackman, Commissariat,

An' Donkin' o' the Jail;

An' Blake, Conductor-Sargent,

Our Master twice was 'e,

With 'im that kept the Europe-shop,

Old Framjee Eduljee.



Outside -- "Sergeant! Sir! Salute! Salaam!"

Inside -- "Brother", an' it doesn't do no 'arm.

We met upon the Level an' we parted on the Square,

An' I was Junior Deacon in my Mother-Lodge out there!



We'd Bola Nath, Accountant,

An' Saul the Aden Jew,

An' Din Mohammed, draughtsman

Of the Survey Office too;

There was Babu Chuckerbutty,

An' Amir Singh the Sikh,

An' Castro from the fittin'-sheds,

The Roman Catholick!



We 'adn't good regalia,

An' our Lodge was old an' bare,

But we knew the Ancient Landmarks,

An' we kep' 'em to a hair;

An' lookin' on it backwards

It often strikes me thus,

There ain't such things as infidels,

Excep', per'aps, it's us.



For monthly, after Labour,

We'd all sit down and smoke

(We dursn't give no banquits,

Lest a Brother's caste were broke),

An' man on man got talkin'

Religion an' the rest,

An' every man comparin'

Of the God 'e knew the best.



So man on man got talkin',

An' not a Brother stirred

Till mornin' waked the parrots

An' that dam' brain-fever-bird;

We'd say 'twas 'ighly curious,

An' we'd all ride 'ome to bed,

With Mo'ammed, God, an' Shiva

Changin' pickets in our 'ead.



Full oft on Guv'ment service

This rovin' foot 'ath pressed,

An' bore fraternal greetin's

To the Lodges east an' west,

Accordin' as commanded

From Kohat to Singapore,

But I wish that I might see them

In my Mother-Lodge once more!



I wish that I might see them,

My Brethren black an' brown,

With the trichies smellin' pleasant

An' the hog-darn passin' down; [Cigar-lighter.]

An' the old khansamah snorin' [Butler.]

On the bottle-khana floor, [Pantry.]

Like a Master in good standing

With my Mother-Lodge once more!



Outside -- "Sergeant! Sir! Salute! Salaam!"

Inside -- "Brother", an' it doesn't do no 'arm.

We met upon the Level an' we parted on the Square,

An' I was Junior Deacon in my Mother-Lodge out there!

King Solomon's Banquet "Once in so often," King Solomon said,

Watching his quarrymen drill the stone,

"We will club our garlic and wine and bread

And banquet together beneath my Throne.

And all the Brethren shall come to that mess

As Fellow-Craftsmen - no more no less.



"Send a swift shallop to Hiram of Tyre,

Felling and floating our beautiful trees,

Say that the Brethren and I desire

Talk with our Brethren who use the seas.

And we shall be happy to meet them at mess

As Fellow-Craftsmen - no more no less.



"Carry this message to Hiram Abif-

Excellent Master of forge and mine:

I and the Brethren would like it if

He and the Brethren will come to dine,

(Garments from Bozrah or morning dress)

As Fellow-Craftsmen - no more no less.



God gave the Hyssop and cedar their place -

Also the Bramble, the Fig and the Thorn -

But that is no reason to black a man's face

Because he is not what he wasn't been born,

And, as touching the Temple, I hold and profess

We are Fellow Craftsmen - no more and no less.



So it was ordered and so it was done,

And the hewers of wood and the Masons of Mark

With foc'sle hands of the Sidon run

And Navy Lords from the Royal Ark,

Came and sat down and were merry at mess

As Fellow Craftsmen - no more and no less.



The quarries are hotter than Hyram's forge,

No-one is safe from the dog-whip's reach.

It's mostly snowing up Lebanon gorge,

And it's always blowing off Joppa beach;

But once in so often, the messenger brings

Solomon's mandate; "Forget these things!

Brother to Beggars and Fellow to Kings

Companion of Princes - forget these things!

Fellow Craftsmen, forget these things!"



IF If you can keep your head when all about you

Are losing theirs and blaming it on you;

If you can trust yourself when all men doubt you,

But make allowance for their doubting too;

If you can wait and not be tired by waiting,

Or, being lied about, don't deal in lies,

Or, being hated, don't give way to hating,

And yet don't look too good, nor talk too wise;

If you can dream - and not make dreams your master;

If you can think - and not make thoughts your aim;

If you can meet with triumph and disaster

And treat those two imposters just the same;

If you can bear to hear the truth you've spoken

Twisted by knaves to make a trap for fools,

Or watch the things you gave your life to broken,

And stoop and build 'em up with wornout tools;

If you can make one heap of all your winnings

And risk it on one turn of pitch-and-toss,

And lose, and start again at your beginnings

And never breath a word about your loss;

If you can force your heart and nerve and sinew

To serve your turn long after they are gone,

And so hold on when there is nothing in you

Except the Will which says to them: "Hold on";

If you can talk with crowds and keep your virtue,

Or walk with kings - nor lose the common touch;

If neither foes nor loving friends can hurt you;

If all men count with you, but none too much;

If you can fill the unforgiving minute

With sixty seconds' worth of distance run -

Yours is the Earth and everything that's in it,

And - which is more - you'll be a Man my son!

L'Envoi to "Life's Handicap" 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 is 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.



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.



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!



One stone the more swings to her place

In that dread Temple of Thy Worth --

It is enough that through Thy grace

I saw naught 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!

The Palace When I was a King and a Mason -- a Master proven and skilled --

I cleared me ground for a Palace such as a King should build.

I decreed and dug down to my levels. Presently, under the silt,

I came on the wreck of a Palace such as a King had built.



There was no worth in the fashion -- there was no wit in the plan --

Hither and thither, aimless, the ruined footings ran --

Masonry, brute, mishandled, but carven on every stone:

"After me cometh a Builder. Tell him, I too have known."



Swift to my use in my trenches, where my well-planned ground-works grew,

I tumbled his quoins and his ashlars, and cut and reset them anew.

Lime I milled of his marbles; burned it, slacked it, and spread;

Taking and leaving at pleasure the gifts of the humble dead.



Yet I despised not nor gloried; yet, as we wrenched them apart,

I read in the razed foundations the heart of that builder's heart.

As he had risen and pleaded, so did I understand

The form of the dream he had followed in the face of the thing he had planned.



* * * * *



When I was a King and a Mason -- in the open noon of my pride,

They sent me a Word from the Darkness. They whispered and called me aside.

They said -- "The end is forbidden." They said -- "Thy use is fulfilled.

"Thy Palace shall stand as that other's -- the spoil of a King who shall

build."



I called my men from my trenches, my quarries, my wharves, and my sheers.

All I had wrought I abandoned to the faith of the faithless years.

Only I cut on the timber -- only I carved on the stone:

"After me cometh a Builder. Tell him, I too have known!"

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