Four stanzas of the poem Recessional are worth quoting:

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 die;
The Captains and the Kings depart;
Still stands shine 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 that 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 !

The White Man’s Burden

Take up the White Man’s burden --
Send forth the best ye breed --
Go, bind your sons to exile
To serve your captives’ need;
To wait, in heavy harness,
On fluttered folk and wild --
Your new-caught sullen peoples,
Half devil and half child.
Take up the White Man’s burden --
In patience to abide,
To veil the threat of terror
And check the show of pride;
By open speech and simple,
And hundred times made plain,
To seek another’s profit
And work another’s gain.
Take up the White Man’s burden --
The saving wars of peace --
Fill full the mouth of Famine,
And bid the sickness cease;
And when your goal is nearest
(The end for others sought)
Watch sloth and heathen folly
Bring all your hope to nought.
Take up the White Man’s burden --
No iron rule of kings,
But toil of serf and sweeper --
The tale of common things.
The ports ye shall not enter,
The roads ye shall not tread,
Go, make them with your living
And mark them with your dead,
Take up the White Man’s burden,
And reap his old reward --
The blame of those ye better
The hate of those ye guard --
The cry of hosts ye humor
(Ah, slowly!) toward the light; --
"Why brought ye us from bondage,
our loved Egyptian night ?"
Take up the White Man’s burden--
Ye dare not stoop to less --
Nor call too loud on Freedom
To cloak your weariness.
By all ye will or whisper,
By all ye leave or do,
The silent sullen peoples
Shall weigh your God and you.
Take up the White Man’s burden !
Have done with childish days --
The lightly-proffered laurel,
The easy ungrudged praise :
Comes now, to search your manhood
Through all the thankless years,
Cold, edged with dear-bought wisdom,
The judgment of your peers.

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 you aim,
If you can meet with Triumph and Disaster
And treat those two impostors 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 worn-out 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 breathe 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 !

The Fabulist

When all the world would keep a matter hid,
Since Truth is seldom friend to any crowd,
Men write is fable, as old Aesop did,
Jesting at that which none will name aloud.
And this they needs must do, or it will fall
Unless they please they are not heard at all.
When desperate Folly daily laboureth
To work confusion upon all we have,
When diligent Sloth demandeth Freedom’s death,
And banded Fear commandeth Honor’s grave –
Even in that certain hour before the fall
Unless men please they are not heard at all.
Needs must all please, yet some not all for need,
Needs must all toil, yet some not all for gain,
But that men taking pleasure may take heed,
Whom present toil shall snatch from later pain.
Thus some have toiled, but their reward was small
Since, through they pleased, they were not heard at all.
This was the lock that lay upon our lips,
This was the yoke that we have undergone,
Denying us all pleasant fellowships
As in our time and generation.
Our pleasures unpursued age past recall,
And for our pains – we are not heard at all.

Non Nobis Domine

Non nobis Domine ! –
Not unto us, O Lord !
The Praise or Glory be
Of any deed or word;
For in Thy Judgment lies
To crown or bring to nought
All knowledge or device
That Man has reached or wrought.
And we confess our blame –
How all too high we hold
That noise which men call Fame,
That dross which men call Gold.
For these we undergo
Our hot and godless days,
But in our hearts we know
Not unto us the Praise.
O Power by Whom we live –
Creator, Judge, and Friend,
Upholdingly forgive
Nor fail us at the end :
But grant us well to see
In all our piteous ways –
Non nobis Domine ! –
Not unto us the Praise