Page:Rudyard Kipling's verse - Inclusive Edition 1885-1918.djvu/186

168 And come they for your calling? No wit of man may save. They hear the loosed White Horses Above their fathers’ grave; And, kin of those we crippled, And, sons of those we slew, Spur down the wild white riders To school the herds anew.

What service have ye laid them,' Oh jealous steeds and strong? Save we that throw their weaklings, Is none dare work them wrong; While thick around the homestead Our snow-backed leaders graze— A guard behind their plunder, And a veil before their ways.

With march and countermarchings— With weight of wheeling hosts— Stray mob or bands embattled— We ring the chosen coasts: And, careless of our clamour That bids the stranger fly, At peace within our pickets The wild white riders lie.

Trust ye the curdled hollows— Trust ye the neighing wind— Trust ye the moaning groundswell— Our herds are close behind! To bray your foeman’s armies— To chill and snap his sword— Trust ye the wild White Horses, The Horses of the Lord!