BY THE old Moulmein Pagoda, lookin' lazy at the sea, There's a Burma girl a-settin', and I know she thinks o' me; For the wind is in the palm-trees, and the temple-bells they say: "Come you back, you British soldier; come you back to Mandalay! " Come you back to Mandalay, Where the old Flotilla lay: Can't you 'ear their paddles chunkin' from Rangoon to Mandalay ? On the road to Mandalay, Where the flyin'-fishes play, An' the dawn comes up like thunder outer China 'crost the Bay! 'Er petticoat was yaller an' 'er little cap was green, An' 'er name was Supi-yaw-lat - jes' the same as Theebaw's Queen, An' I seed her first a-smokin' of a whackin' white cheroot, An' a-wastin' Christian kisses on an 'eathen idol's foot: Bloomin' idol made o' mud Wot they called the Great Gawd Budd Plucky lot she cared for idols when I kissed 'er where she stud! On the road to Mandalay... When the mist was on the rice-fields an' the sun was droppin' slow, She'd git 'er little banjo an' she'd sing "Kulla-lo-lo! With 'er arm upon my shoulder an' 'er cheek agin my cheek We useter watch the steamers an' the hathis pilin' teak. Elephints a-pilin' teak In the sludgy, squdgy creek, Where the silence 'ung that 'eavy you was 'arf afraid to speak! On the road to Mandalay... But that's all shove be'ind me - long ago an' fur away An' there ain't no 'busses runnin' from the Bank to Mandalay; An' I'm learnin' 'ere in London what the ten-year soldier tells: "If you've 'eard the East a-callin', you won't never 'eed naught else." No! you won't 'eed nothin' else But them spicy garlic smells, An' the sunshine an' the palm-trees an' the tinkly temple-bells; On the road to Mandalay... I am sick o' wastin' leather on these gritty pavin'-stones, An' the blasted English drizzle wakes the fever in my bones; Tho' I walks with fifty 'ousemaids outer Chelsea to the Strand, An' they talks a lot o' lovin', but wot do they understand? Beefy face an' grubby 'and - Law! wot do they understand? I've a neater, sweeter maiden in a cleaner, greener land! On the road to Mandalay... Ship me somewheres east of Suez, where the best is like the worst, Where there aren't no Ten Commandments an' a man can raise a thirst; For the temple-bells are callin', an' it's there that I would be By the old Moulmein Pagoda, looking lazy at the sea; On the road to Mandalay, Where the old Flotilla lay, With our sick beneath the awnings when we went to Mandalay! O the road to Mandalay, Where the flyin'-fishes play, An' the dawn comes up like thunder outer China 'crost the Bay !

Route Marchin' (Rudyard Kipling) Am Dm WE’RE marchin’ on relief over Injia’s sunny plains, F Am G Am A little front o’ Christmas-time an’ just be’ind the Rains; C Dm F Am Ho! get away you bullock-man, you’ve ’eard the bugle blowed, Dm Am G Am There’s a regiment a-comin’ down the Grand Trunk Road; D Am With its best foot first D Am And the road a-sliding past, Bm C Bm C An’ every bloomin’ campin’-ground exactly like the last; D C While the Big Drum says, Bm Am With ’is “rowdy-dowdy-dow!”— G D Am Em “Kiko kissywarsti don’t you hamsher argy jow?” Oh, there’s them Injian temples to admire when you see, There’s the peacock round the corner an’ the monkey up the tree, An’ there’s that rummy silver grass a-wavin’ in the wind, An’ the old Grand Trunk a-trailin’ like a rifle-sling be’ind. While it’s best foot first, . . . At half-past five’s Revelly, an’ our tents they down must come, Like a lot of button mushrooms when you pick ’em up at ’ome. But it’s over in a minute, an’ at six the column starts, While the women and the kiddies sit an’ shiver in the carts. An’ it’s best foot first, . . . Oh, then it’s open order, an’ we lights our pipes an’ sings, An’ we talks about our rations an’ a lot of other things, An’ we thinks o’ friends in England, an’ we wonders what they’re at, An’ ’ow they would admire for to hear us sling the bat An’ it’s best foot first, . . . It’s none so bad o’ Sunday, when you’re lyin’ at your ease, To watch the kites a-wheelin’ round them feather-’eaded trees, For although there ain’t no women, yet there ain’t no barrick-yards, So the orficers goes shootin’ an’ the men they plays at cards. Till it’s best foot first, . . . So ’ark an’ ’eed, you rookies, which is always grumblin’ sore, There’s worser things than marchin’ from Umballa to Cawnpore; An’ if your ’eels are blistered an’ they feels to ’urt like ’ell, You drop some tallow in your socks an’ that will make ’em well. For it’s best foot first, . . . We’re marchin’ on relief over Injia’s coral strand, Eight ’undred fightin’ Englishmen, the Colonel, and the Band; Ho! get away you bullock-man, you’ve ’eard the bugle blowed, There’s a regiment a-comin’ down the Grand Trunk Road; With its best foot first And the road a-sliding past, An’ every bloomin’ campin’-ground exactly like the last; While the Big Drum says, With ’is “rowdy-dowdy-dow!”— “Kiko kissywarsti don’t you hamsher argy jow?”

If you wake at midnight, and hear a horse's feet, Don't go drawing back the blind, or looking in the street. Them that ask no questions isn't told a lie. Watch the wall, my darling, while the Gentlemen go by! Five and twenty ponies, Trotting through the dark -- Brandy for the Parson, 'Baccy for the Clerk; Laces for a lady, letters for a spy, And watch the wall, my darling, while the Gentlemen go by! Running round the woodlump if you chance to find Little barrels, roped and tarred, all full of brandy-wine, Don't you shout to come and look, nor use 'em for your play. Put the brishwood back again -- and they'll be gone next day! C G Bm7 C If you see the stable-door setting open wide; C G Am If you see a tired horse lying down inside; C G Bm7 C If your mother mends a coat cut about and tore; G Am C Em If the lining's wet and warm -- don't you ask no more! rpt chorus If you meet King George's men, dressed in blue and red, You be carefull what you say, and mindful what is said. If they call you "pretty maid," and chuck you 'neath the chin, Don't you tell where no one is, nor yet where no one's been! Knocks and footsteps round the house -- whistles after dark -- You've no call for running out till the house-dogs bark. Trusty's here, and Pincher's here, and see how dumb they lie -- They don't fret to follow when the Gentlemen go by! If you do as you've been told, 'likely there's a chance, You'll be given a dainty doll, all the way from France, With a cap of Valenciennes, and a velvet hood -- A present from the Gentlemen, along o' being good! Five and twenty ponies, Trotting through the dark -- Brandy for the Parson, 'Baccy for the Clerk; Them that asks no questions isn't told a lie -- Watch the wall, my darling, while the Gentlemen go by!

My Boy Jack Have you news of my boy Jack?" Not this tide. "When d'you think that he'll come back?" Not with this wind blowing, and this tide. "Has any one else had word of him?: " Not this tide. For what is sunk will hardly swim, Not with this wind blowing, and this tide. "Oh, dear, what comfort can I find?" None this tide, Nor any tide, Except he did not shame his kind— Not even with that wind blowing, and that tide. Then hold your head up all the more, This tide, And every tide; Because he was the son you bore, And gave to that wind blowing and that tide!

Gunga Din You may talk o' gin and beer When you're quartered safe out 'ere, An' you're sent to penny-fights an' Aldershot it; But when it comes to slaughter You will do your work on water, An' you'll lick the bloomin' boots of 'im that's got it. Now in Injia's sunny clime, Where I used to spend my time A-servin' of 'Er Majesty the Queen, Of all them blackfaced crew The finest man I knew Was our regimental bhisti, Gunga Din. He was "Din! Din! Din! You limpin' lump o' brick-dust, Gunga Din! Hi! Slippy hitherao! Water, get it! Panee lao! You squidgy-nosed old idol, Gunga Din." The uniform 'e wore Was nothin' much before, An' rather less than 'arf o' that be'ind, For a piece o' twisty rag An' a goatskin water-bag Was all the field-equipment 'e could find. When the sweatin' troop-train lay In a sidin' through the day, Where the 'eat would make your bloomin' eyebrows crawl, We shouted "Harry By!" Till our throats were bricky-dry, Then we wopped 'im 'cause 'e couldn't serve us all. It was "Din! Din! Din! You 'eathen, where the mischief 'ave you been? You put some juldee in it Or I'll marrow you this minute If you don't fill up my helmet, Gunga Din!" 'E would dot an' carry one Till the longest day was done; An' 'e didn't seem to know the use o' fear. If we charged or broke or cut, You could bet your bloomin' nut, 'E'd be waitin' fifty paces right flank rear. With 'is mussick on 'is back, 'E would skip with our attack, An' watch us till the bugles made "Retire", An' for all 'is dirty 'ide 'E was white, clear white, inside When 'e went to tend the wounded under fire! It was "Din! Din! Din!" With the bullets kickin' dust-spots on the green. When the cartridges ran out, You could hear the front-ranks shout, "Hi! ammunition-mules an' Gunga Din!" I shan't forgit the night When I dropped be'ind the fight With a bullet where my belt-plate should 'a' been. I was chokin' mad with thirst, An' the man that spied me first Was our good old grinnin', gruntin' Gunga Din. 'E lifted up my 'ead, An' he plugged me where I bled, An' 'e guv me 'arf-a-pint o' water-green: It was crawlin' and it stunk, But of all the drinks I've drunk, I'm gratefullest to one from Gunga Din. It was "Din! Din! Din! 'Ere's a beggar with a bullet through 'is spleen; 'E's chawin' up the ground, An' 'e's kickin' all around: For Gawd's sake git the water, Gunga Din!" 'E carried me away To where a dooli lay, An' a bullet come an' drilled the beggar clean. 'E put me safe inside, An' just before 'e died, "I 'ope you liked your drink", sez Gunga Din. So I'll meet 'im later on At the place where 'e is gone -- Where it's always double drill and no canteen. 'E'll be squattin' on the coals Givin' drink to poor damned souls, An' I'll get a swig in hell from Gunga Din! Yes, Din! Din! Din! You Lazarushian-leather Gunga Din! Though I've belted you and flayed you, By the livin' Gawd that made you, You're a better man than I am, Gunga Din!

"Oh, where are you going to, all you Big Steamers, With England's own coal, up and down the salt seas?" "We are going to fetch you your bread and your butter, Your beef, pork, and mutton, eggs, apples, and cheese." "And where will you fetch it from, all you Big Steamers, And where shall I write you when you are away? "We fetch it from Melbourne, Quebec, and Vancouver-- Address us at Hobart, Hong-Kong, and Bombay." "But if anything happened to all you Big Steamers, And suppose you were wrecked up and down the salt sea?" "Then you'd have no coffee or bacon for breakfast, And you'd have no muffins or toast for your tea." "Then I'll pray for fine weather for all you Big Steamers, For little blue billows and breezes so soft." "Oh, billows and breezes don't bother Big Steamers, For we're iron below and steel-rigging aloft." "Then I'll build a new lighthouse for all you Big Steamers, With plenty wise pilots to pilot you through." "Oh, the Channel's as bright as a ball-room already, And pilots are thicker than pilchards at Looe." "Then what can I do for you, all you Big Steamers, Oh, what can I do for your comfort and good?" "Send out your big warships to watch your big waters, That no one may stop us from bringing you food. "For the bread that you eat and the biscuits you nibble, The sweets that you suck and the joints that you carve, They are brought to you daily by all us Big Steamers-- And if one hinders our coming you'll starve!"

"Follow me 'ome" (Rudyard Kipling) THERE was no one like ’im, ’Orse or Foot, Nor any o’ the Guns I knew; An’ because it was so, why, o’ course ’e went an’ died, Which is just what the best men do. So it’s knock out your pipes an’ follow me! An’ it’s finish up your swipes an’ follow me! Oh, ’ark to the big drum callin’, Follow me—follow me ’ome! ’Is mare she neighs the ’ole day long, She paws the ’ole night through, An’ she won’t take ’er feed ’cause o’ waitin’ for ’is step, Which is just what a beast would do. ’Is girl she goes with a bombardier Before ’er month is through; An’ the banns are up in church, for she’s got the beggar hooked, Which is just what a girl would do. We fought ’bout a dog—last week it were— No more than a round or two; But I strook ’im cruel ’ard, an’ I wish I ’adn’t now, Which is just what a man can’t do. ’E was all that I ’ad in the way of a friend, An’ I’ve ’ad to find one new; But I’d give my pay an’ stripe for to get the beggar back, Which it’s just too late to do. So it’s knock out your pipes an’ follow me! An’ it’s finish off your swipes an’ follow me! Oh, ’ark to the fifes a-crawlin’! Follow me—follow me ’ome! Take ’im away! ’E’s gone where the best men go. Take ’im away! An’ the gun-wheels turnin’ slow. Take ’im away! There’s more from the place ’e come. Take ’im away, with the limber an’ the drum. For it’s “Three rounds blank” an’ follow me, An’ it’s “Thirteen rank” an’ follow me; Oh, passin’ the love o’ women, Follow me—follow me ’ome!

Oonts (Rudyard Kipling) (Northern India transport train) WOT makes the soldier's 'eart to penk, wot makes 'im to perspire? It isn't standin' up to charge nor lyin' down to fire; But it's everlasrin' waitin' on an everlastin' road For the commissariat camel an' 'is commissariat load. O the oont (1) , O the oont, O the commissariat oont! With 'is silly neck a-bobbin' like a basket full o' snakes; We packs 'im like an idol, an' you ought to 'ear 'im grunt, An' when we gets 'im loaded up 'is blessed girth-rope breaks. Wot makes the rear-guard swear so 'ard when night is drorin' in, An' every native follower is shiverin' for 'is skin? It ain't the chanst o' being rushed by Paythans from the 'ills, It's the commissariat camel puttin' on 'is bloomin' frills! O the oont, O the oont, O the hairy scary oont! A-trippin' over tent-ropes when we've got the night alarm! We socks 'im with a stretcher-pole an' 'eads 'im off in front, An' when we've saved 'is bloomin' life 'e chaws our bloomin' arm. The 'orse 'e knows above a bit, the bullock's but a fool, The elephant's a gentleman, the battery-mule's a mule; But the commissariat cam-u-el, when all is said an' done, 'E's a devil an' a ostrich an' a orphan-child in one. O the oont, O the oont, O the Gawd-forsaken oont! The lumpy-'umpy 'ummin'-bird a-singin' where 'e lies, 'E's blocked the whole division from the rear-guard to the front, An' when we get him up again -- the beggar goes an' dies! 'E'll gall an' chafe an' lame an' fight -- 'e smells most awful vile; 'E'll lose 'isself for ever if you let 'im stray a mile; 'E's game to graze the 'ole day long an' 'owl the 'ole night through, An' when 'e comes to greasy ground 'e splits 'isself in two. O the oont, O the oont, O the floppin', droppin' oont! When 'is long legs give from under an' 'is meltin' eye is dim, The tribes is up be'ind us, and the tribes is out in front -- It ain't no jam for Tommy, but it's kites an' crows for 'im. So when the cruel march is done, an' when the roads is blind, An' when we sees the camp in front an' 'ears the shots be'ind, Ho! then we strips 'is saddle off, and all 'is woes is past: 'E thinks on us that used 'im so, and gets revenge at last. O the oont, O the oont, O the floatin', bloatin' oont! The late lamented camel in the water-cut 'e lies; We keeps a mile be'ind 'im an' we keeps a mile in front, But 'e gets into the drinkin'-casks, and then o' course we dies. (1) 'oo' is pronounced like 'u' in bull, but by Mr Atkins to rhyme with 'front'.

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 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!

Boots (Infantry Columns) Riff around A A/G A/F# A/E We're foot--slog--slog--slog--sloggin' over Africa -- F G Am Em Riff Foot--foot--foot--foot--sloggin' over Africa -- F Dm Am (Boots--boots--boots--boots--movin' up and down again!) Em There's no discharge in the war! Seven--six--eleven--five--nine-an'-twenty mile to-day -- Four--eleven--seventeen--thirty-two the day before -- (Boots--boots--boots--boots--movin' up and down again!) There's no discharge in the war! Fmaj7 Am7 Gm C Em Don't--don't--don't--don't--look at what's in front of you. G C G F Em (Boots--boots--boots--boots--movin' up an' down again); F Dm Am Men--men--men--men--men go mad with watchin' em, Em An' there's no discharge in the war! Try--try--try--try--to think o' something different -- Oh--my--God--keep--me from goin' lunatic! (Boots--boots--boots--boots--movin' up an' down again!) There's no discharge in the war! Count--count--count--count--the bullets in the bandoliers. If--your--eyes--drop--they will get atop o' you! (Boots--boots--boots--boots--movin' up and down again) -- There's no discharge in the war! We--can--stick--out--'unger, thirst, an' weariness, But--not--not--not--not the chronic sight of 'em -- Boot--boots--boots--boots--movin' up an' down again, An' there's no discharge in the war! 'Taint--so--bad--by--day because o' company, But night--brings--long--strings--o' forty thousand million Boots--boots--boots--boots--movin' up an' down again. There's no discharge in the war! I--'ave--marched--six--weeks in 'Ell an' certify It--is--not--fire--devils, dark, or anything, But boots--boots--boots--boots--movin' up an' down again, An' there's no discharge in the war!

'Birds of Prey' March G D C G March! The mud is cakin' good about our trousies. Em G D Front!—eyes front, an' watch the Colour-casin's drip. G D C G Front! The faces of the women in the 'ouses Em G A7 Ain't the kind o' things to take aboard the ship. G A Bm F#m Cheer! An' we'll never march to victory. G A Bm F#m Cheer! An' we'll never live to 'ear the cannon roar! G D The Large Birds o' Prey C Bm They will carry us away, C G A7 An' you'll never see your soldiers any more! Wheel! Oh, keep your touch; we're goin' round a corner. Time!—mark time, an' let the men be'ind us close. Lord! the transport's full, an' 'alf our lot not on 'er— Cheer, O cheer! We're going off where no one knows. F C G D March! The Devil's none so black as 'e is painted! Bb C G Cheer! We'll 'ave some fun before we're put away. F C G D 'Alt, an' 'and 'er out—a woman's gone and fainted! Bb C A7 Cheer! Get on—Gawd 'elp the married men to-day! Hoi! Come up, you 'ungry beggars, to yer sorrow. ('Ear them say they want their tea, an' want it quick!) You won't have no mind for slingers, not to-morrow— No; you'll put the 'tween-decks stove out, bein' sick! 'Alt! The married kit 'as all to go before us! 'Course it's blocked the bloomin' gangway up again! Cheer, O cheer the 'Orse Guards watchin' tender o'er us, Keepin' us since eight this mornin' in the rain! Stuck in 'eavy marchin'-order, sopped and wringin'— Sick, before our time to watch 'er 'eave an' fall, 'Ere's your 'appy 'ome at last, an' stop your singin'. 'Alt! Fall in along the troop-deck! Silence all! Cheer! For we'll never live to see no bloomin' victory! Cheer! An' we'll never live to 'ear the cannon roar! (One cheer more!) The jackal an' the kite 'Ave an 'ealthy appetite, An' you'll never see your soldiers any more! ('Ip! Urroar!) The eagle an' the crow They are waitin' ever so, An' you'll never see your soldiers any more! ('Ip! Urroar!) Yes, the Large Birds o' Prey They will carry us away, An' you'll never see your soldiers any more!

'Bobs' (Field-Marshal Lord Roberts of Kandahar: died in France 1914) Am F THERE's a little red-faced man, G Which is Bobs, Am F Rides the tallest 'orse 'e can- Em Our Bobs. Dm Am If it bucks or kicks or rears, G F 'E can sit for twenty years Dm Am With a smile round both 'is ears- E7 Can't yer, Bobs? Then 'ere's to Bobs Bahadur - little Bobs, Bobs, Bobs! E's our pukka Kandahader- Fightin' Bobs, Bobs, Bobs! E's the Dook of Aggy Chel; E's the man that done us well, An' we'll follow 'im to 'ell Won't we, Bobs? If a limber's slipped a trace, 'Ook on Bobs. If a marker's lost 'is place, Dress by Bobs. For 'e's eyes all up 'is coat, An' a bugle in 'is throat, An' you will not play the goat Under Bobs. Am E E's a little down on drink, Am Chaplain Bobs; Dm F But it keeps us outer Clink Em Don't it, Bobs? Dm Am So we will not complain G F Tho' ‘e’s water on the brain, Bb C If 'e leads us straight again— A7 Blue-light Bobs. If you stood 'im on 'is head, Father Bobs, You could spill a quart of lead Outer Bobs. 'E's been at it thirty years An-amassin' souveneers In the way o' slugs an' spears- Ain't yer, Bobs? What 'e does not know o' war, Gen'ral Bobs, You can arst the shop next door- Can't they, Bobs? Oh, 'e's little but he's wise, 'E's terror for 'is size, An--'e-does-not-advertise- Do yer, Bobs? Now they've made a bloomin' Lord Outer Bobs, Which was but 'is fair reward- Weren't it, Bobs? So 'e'll wear a coronet Where 'is 'elmet used to set; But we know you won't forget- Will yer, Bobs? Then 'ere's to Bobs Bahadur- little Bobs, Bobs, Bobs, Pocket-Wellin'ton 'an arder Fightin' Bobs, Bobs, Bobs! This ain't no bloomin' ode, But you've 'elped the soldier's load, An' for benefits bestowed, Bless yer, Bobs!

The Children (Rudyard Kipling) C G D Em D C Em THESE were our children who died for our lands: they were dear in our sight. C G D Em D C Em We have only the memory left of their hometreasured sayings and laughter. Am D Am D Am D Em The price of our loss shall be paid to our hands, not another's hereafter. C G D Em D C B7 Neither the Alien nor Priest shall decide on it. That is our right. Em G A B7 Em G A B7 But who shall return us the children ? F#m B C#m G#m At the hour the Barbarian chose to disclose his pretences, C#m B F#m And raged against Man, they engaged, on the breasts that they bared for us, F#m B C#m G#m The first felon-stroke of the sword he had longtime prepared for us - C#m B F#m Their bodies were all our defence while we wrought our defences. A B C#m They bought us anew with their blood, forbearing to blame us, A B F#m Those hours which we had not made good when the Judgment o'ercame us. A B C#m They believed us and perished for it. Our statecraft, our learning A B F#m Delivered them bound to the Pit and alive to the burning A B C#m Whither they mirthfully hastened as jostling for honour. A B F#m Not since her birth has our Earth seen such worth loosed upon her! Nor was their agony brief, or once only imposed on them. The wounded, the war-spent, the sick received no exemption: Being cured they returned and endured and achieved our redemption, Hopeless themselves of relief, till Death, marvelling, closed on them. That flesh we had nursed from the first in all cleanness was given To corruption unveiled and assailed by the malice of Heaven - By the heart-shaking jests of Decay where it lolled on the wires To be blanched or gay-painted by fumes - to be cindered by fires - Am D Am D Am D Em To be senselessly tossed and retossed in stale mutilation C G D Em D C B7 From crater to crater. For this we shall take expiation. Em G A B7 Em G A B7 But who shall return us our children ?

Buddha at Kamakura 1892 "And there is a Japanese idol at Kamakura" Fmaj7 G6 F Am7 xx3210 xx5430 xx35x5 x02010 O ye who tread the Narrow Way F Am7 Bb Am7 By Tophet-flare to Judgment Day, Fmaj7 G6 F Am7 Be gentle when "the heathen" pray F Am7 Bb Am7 To Buddha at Kamakura! Dm7 Em Am To him the Way, the Law, apart, G F G F G Whom Maya held beneath her heart, Dm7 Em Am Ananda's Lord, the Bodhisat, F C Dm7 F G The Buddha of Kamakura. For though he neither burns nor sees, [as per A] Nor hears ye thank your Deities, Ye have not sinned with such as these, His children at Kamakura, Yet spare us still the Western joke [as per B] When joss-sticks turn to scented smoke The little sins of little folk That worship at Kamakura -- C Am Em G The grey-robed, gay-sashed butterflies C Am Em G That flit beneath the Master's eyes. C Am Em G He is beyond the Mysteries C Dm7 F G But loves them at Kamakura. And whoso will, from Pride released, [as per A] Contemning neither creed nor priest, May feel the Soul of all the East About him at Kamakura. Yea, every tale Ananda heard, [as per B] Of birth as fish or beast or bird, While yet in lives the Master stirred, The warm wind brings Kamakura. Till drowsy eyelids seem to see [as per A] A-flower 'neath her golden htee The Shwe-Dagon flare easterly From Burmah to Kamakura, And down the loaded air there comes [as per C] The thunder of Thibetan drums, And droned -- "Om mane padme hums" -- A world's-width from Kamakura. Yet Brahmans rule Benares still, Buddh-Gaya's ruins pit the hill, And beef-fed zealots threaten ill To Buddha and Kamakura. Fmaj7 C A tourist-show, a legend told, G Dm7 A rusting bulk of bronze and gold, Fmaj7 C So much, and scarce so much, ye hold G Am7 The meaning of Kamakura? But when the morning prayer is prayed, [as per B, end on C chord] Think, ere ye pass to strife and trade, Is God in human image made No nearer than Kamakura? ________________________________________ * Om mane padme hums -- The Buddhist invocation.

Ford o' Kabul River C G Am Em Kabul town's by Kabul river – G D C Em Blow the bugle, draw the sword – C G Am Em There I lef' my mate for ever, Am C G B7 Wet an' drippin' by the ford. Am C Em D Ford, ford, ford o' Kabul river, Em C G Em Ford o' Kabul river in the dark ! C D Em Bm There's the river up and brimmin', C Em G Em An' there's 'arf a squadron swimmin' C Em C D Em 'Cross the ford o' Kabul river in the dark. Kabul town's a blasted place - Blow the bugle, draw the sword - 'Strewth I sha'n't forget 'is face Wet an' drippin' by the ford ! Ford, ford, ford o' Kabul river, Ford o' Kabul river in the dark ! Keep the crossing-stakes beside you, An' they will surely guide you 'Cross the ford o' Kabul river in the dark. Kabul town is sun and dust - Blow the bugle, draw the sword - I'd ha' sooner drownded fust 'Stead of 'im beside the ford. Ford, ford, ford o' Kabul river, Ford o' Kabul river in the dark ! You can 'ear the 'orses threshin', You can 'ear the men a-splashin', 'Cross the ford o' Kabul river in the dark. Kabul town was ours to take - Blow the bugle, draw the sword - I'd ha' left it for 'is sake - 'Im that left me by the ford. Ford, ford, ford o' Kabul river, Ford o' Kabul river in the dark ! It's none so bloomin' dry there; Ain't you never comin' nigh there, 'Cross the ford o' Kabul river in the dark ? Kabul town'll go to hell - Blow the bugle, draw the sword - 'Fore I see him 'live an' well - 'Im the best beside the ford. Ford, ford, ford o' Kabul river, Ford o' Kabul river in the dark ! Gawd 'elp 'em if they blunder, For their boots'll pull 'em under, By the ford o' Kabul river in the dark. Turn your 'orse from Kabul town - Blow the bugle, draw the sword - 'Im an' 'arf my troop is down, Down an' drownded by the ford. Ford, ford, ford o' Kabul river, Ford o' Kabul river in the dark ! There's the river low an' fallin', But it ain't no use o' callin' 'Cross the ford o' Kabul river in the dark.

The Way Through The Woods (Kipling) C Cm THEY shut the road through the woods C9 G Seventy years ago. Am C Weather and rain have undone it again, Dm And now you would never know G There was once a road through the woods Before they planted the trees. It is underneath the coppice and heath, And the thin anemones. Only the keeper sees That, where the ring-dove broods, And the badgers roll at ease, There was once a road through the woods. F C Yet, if you enter the woods Dm Em Of a summer evening late, Am Em When the night-air cools on the trout-ringed pools Dm G Where the otter whistles his mate, (They fear not men in the woods, Because they see so few.) You will hear the beat of a horse's feet, And the swish of a skirt in the dew, C Dm Steadily cantering through C Dm The misty solitudes, G F As though they perfectly knew C Dm The old lost road through the woods. C Cm C9 G But there is no road through the woods.