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Rddvard Kipling (1805- ),

GOD of our fathers, known of old, Lord of our far-flung battle line, Beneath whose awful hand we hold Dominion 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 yesterday

Is 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 which have not thee in awe, Such boastings 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 trust In reeking tube and iron shard ; All valiant dust that builds on dust, And, guarding, calls not thee to guard : For frantic boast and foolish word. Thy mercy ou thy people. Lord.

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