Page:Rudyard Kipling's verse - Inclusive Edition 1885-1918.djvu/58

40 (p) Ay, paint our swarthy billions

The richest of vermillions

Ere two well-led cotillions

Have danced themselves away.

What is the state of the Nation? What is its occupation?

Hi! get along, get along, get along—lend us the information!

(dim.) Census the byle and the yabu—capture a first-class Babu,

Set him to file Gazetteers—Gazetteers...

(ff) What is the state of the Nation, etc., etc.

Our cattle reel beneath the yoke they bear—

The earth is iron and the skies are brass—

And faint with fervour of the flaming air

The languid hours pass.

The well is dry beneath the village tree—

The young wheat withers ere it reach a span,

And belts of blinding sand show cruelly

Where once the river ran.

Pray, brothers, pray, but to no earthly King—

Lift up your hands above the blighted grain,

Look westward—if they please, the Gods shall bring

Their mercy with the rain.

Look westward—bears the blue no brown cloud-bank?

Nay, it is written—wherefore should we fly?

On our own field and by our cattle's flank

Lie down, lie down to die!