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The Stranger Within My Gate - Rudyard Kipling

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Faust [OP]

2005-07-09 11:19 | User Profile

The Stranger Within My Gate - Rudyard Kipling

    The stranger within my gate.
    He may be true or kind.
    But he does not talk -
    I cannot feel his mind.
    I see the face and the eyes and the mouth,
    But not the soul behind.

    The men of my own stock
    They may do ill or well.
    But they tell the lies I am wonted to,
    They are used to the lies I tell.
    We do not need interpreters
    When we go to buy or sell.

    The Stranger within my gates.
    He may be evil or good,
    But I cannot tell what powers control -
    what reasons sway his mood;
    Nor when the Gods of his far-off land
    May repossess his blood.

    The men of my own stock,
    Bitter bad they may be,
    But, at least they hear the things I hear
    And see the things I see;
    And whatever I think of them and their likes
    They think of the likes of me.

    This was my father's belief
    And this is also mine:
    Let the corn be all one sheaf - And the grapes be all one vine
    Ere our children's teeth are set on edge
    By bitter bread and wine.

    Rudyard Kipling

Faust

2005-07-09 11:23 | User Profile

Rudyard Kipling:White Man's Poet

One hundred years ago, in Lahore -- today the second city in independent Pakistan but then an administrative center in British India -- a 17-year-old subeditor, fresh out of school in England, worked very hard to get out each day's edition of the Civil and Military Gazette. His name was Rudyard Kipling.

Every now and then the young subeditor, with his editor's assent, would fill up a little left-over space in the newspaper with a poem of his own composition, much to the annoyance of the Indian typesetters, who did not like to use the special typefaces which Kipling deemed appropriate to distinguish his poems from the prose around them. In 1886 he gathered up all of these poems from the previous three years and republished them in a book, under the title Departmental Ditties. The book was an immediate hit with other British colonials, and the first printing sold out very quickly.

Then it was one book after another, for from 1883 until his death in 1936 Kipling's pen was seldom idle; hardly a week went by that he did not write one or more poems. Because his poetry expressed so well the common sentiment of the race -- the deep soul-sense of men conscious of their breeding and of their responsibility to live up to a standard set by their forebears -- it became very popular with his fellows. He was by far the most widely read -- and the best-loved -- poet writing in English at the beginning of this century; every cultured person in the English-speaking world was familiar with at least some of his poems. In 1907 he was awarded the Nobel Prize for Literature.

Kipling chose as his symbol -- his personal rune -- the swastika, the ancient Aryan sign of the sun and of health and of good fortune. Most editions of his works published in the first decades of this century are adorned with this symbol. Beginning in 1933, however, Jewish pressure was brought to bear against the publishers, and the swastikas were dropped from subsequent printings.

Unfortunately, the censorship did not end there. Kipling's poetry was obnoxious to the new men who began tightening their grip on the cultural and informational media of the English-speaking world in the 1930's -- obnoxious and dangerous. Actually, the whole spirit of Kipling's writing was dangerous to them, totally at odds with the new spirit they were promoting so assiduously, but they could not simply ban all further publication of his works.

What they did instead was take measures to have dropped from new editions of his collected writings those of his poems and stories which expressed most explicitly the spirit and the ideas they feared: the spirit and the ideas of proud, free White men. Today every school child still reads a bit of Kipling's poetry: such things as "Mandalay" and "FuzzyWuzzy" and "Gunga Din," which superficially seem safely in tune with an age of multiracialism and "affirmative action" and White guilt.

But what American schoolchild has ever been given an opportunity to read Kipling's "The Children's Song"? The first two stanzas of that poem are:

Land of our Birth, we pledge to thee
Our love and toil in the years to be;
When we are grown and take our place,
As men and women with our race.

Father in Heaven who lovest all,
Oh help Thy children when they call;
That they may build from age to age,
An undefiled heritage.

There are many other Kipling poems, equally dangerous, which have been deleted from every edition of his works published since the Second World War. Here are three of them:

A Song of the White Men

Now, this is the cup the White Men drink
When they go to right a wrong,
And that is the cup of the old world's hate --
Cruel and strained and strong.
We have drunk that cup -- and a bitter, bitter cup
And tossed the dregs away.
But well for the world when the White Men drink
To the dawn of the White Man's day!

Now, this is the road that the White Men tread
When they go to clean a land --
Iron underfoot and levin overhead
And the deep on either hand.

We have trod that road -- and a wet and windy road
Our chosen star for guide.
Oh, well for the world when the White Men tread
Their highway side by side!

Now, this is the faith that the White Men hold
When they build their homes afar --
"Freedom for ourselves and freedom for our sons
And, failing freedom, War. "
We have proved our faith -- bear witness to our faith,
Dear souls of freemen slain!
Oh, well for the world when the White Men join
To prove their faith again!



The Stranger

The Stranger within my gate,
He may be true or kind,
But he does not talk my talk --
I cannot feel his mind.
I see the face and the eyes and the mouth,
But not the soul behind.

The men of my own stock
They may do ill or well,
But they tell the lies I am wonted to.
They are used to the lies I tell,
And we do not need interpreters
When we go to buy and sell.

The Stranger within my gates,
He may be evil or good,
But I cannot tell what powers control
What reasons sway his mood;
Nor when the Gods of his far-off land
Shall repossess his blood.

The men of my own stock,
Bitter bad they may be,
But, at least, they hear the things I hear,
And see the things I see;
And whatever I think of them and their likes
They think of the likes of me.

This was my father's belief
And this is also mine:
Let the corn be all one sheaf --
And the grapes be all one vine,
Ere our children's teeth are set on edge
By bitter bread and wine.



Song of the Fifth River

When first by Eden Tree,
The Four Great Rivers ran,
To each was appointed a Man
Her Prince and Ruler to be.

But after this was ordained,
(The ancient legends tell),
There came dark Israel,
For whom no River remained.

Then He Whom the Rivers obey
Said to him: "Fling on the ground
A handful of yellow clay,
And a Fifth Great River shall run,
Mightier than these Four,
In secret the Earth around;
And Her secret evermore,
Shall be shown to thee and thy Race."

So it was said and done.
And, deep in the veins of Earth,
And, fed by a thousand springs
That comfort the market-place,
Or sap the power of Kings,
The Fifth Great River had birth,
Even as it was foretold
The Secret River of Gold!

And Israel laid down
His sceptre and his crown,
To brood on that River bank,
Where the waters flashed and sank,
And burrowed in earth and fell,
And bided a season below,
For reason that none might know,
Save only Israel.

He is Lord of the Last --
The Fifth, most wonderful, Flood.
He hears Her thunder past
And Her Song is in his blood.
He can foresay: "She will fall,"
For he knows which fountain dries
Behind which desert-belt
A thousand leagues to the South.

He can foresay: "She will rise."
He knows what far snows melt
Along what mountain-wall
A thousand leagues to the North.
He snuffs the coming drouth
As he snuffs the coming rain.
He knows what each will bring forth,
And turns it to his gain.

A ruler without a Throne,
A Prince without a Sword,
Israel follows his quest.
In every land a guest,
Of many lands a lord,
In no land King is he.
But the Fifth Great River keeps
The secret of Her deeps
For Israel alone,
As it was ordered to be.

SEVEN SHORT NATIONALIST POEMS by Rudyard Kipling

Born in British India in 1865, Rudyard Kipling was educated in England before returning to India in 1882, where his father was a museum director and authority on Indian arts and crafts. He was therefore thoroughly immersed in Indian culture: by 1890 he had published in English about 80 stories and ballads previously unknown outside India . As a result of financial misfortune, from 1892-96 he and his wife, the daughter of an American publisher, lived in Vermont , where he wrote the two Jungle Books. After returning to England , he published "The White Man's Burden" in 1899, a warning to the United States of the high cost of ruling the Philippines, recently won in the Spanish-American War. By the time of his death in 1936, the leftist media was reviling him as the poet of British imperialism, although his books continued to be loved by children and adults alike for more than half a century after that.

Click here to go to the Kipling Society's site containing a plethora of information about him. And click here to go to a site containing many of his books, short stories and poems. THE STRANGER

THE Stranger within my gate, He may be true or kind, But he does not talk my talk — I cannot feel his mind. I see the face and the eyes and the mouth, But not the soul behind.

The men of my own stock They may do ill or well, But they tell the lies I am wonted to, They are used to the lies I tell. And we do not need interpreters When we go to buy and sell.

The Stranger within my gates, He may be evil or good, But I cannot tell what powers control — What reasons sway his mood; Nor when the Gods of his far-off land Shall repossess his blood.

The men of my own stock, Bitter bad they may be, But, at least, they hear the things I hear, And see the things I see; And whatever I think of them and their likes They think of the likes of me.

This was my father's belief And this is also mine: Let the corn be all one sheaf — And the grapes be all one vine, Ere our children's teeth are set on edge By bitter bread and wine. GOD OF OUR FATHERS (June 22, 1897)

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 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!

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 on Thy People, Lord! IF (1909, "Rewards and Fairies")

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 imposters just the same;

IF you 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 YOUNG QUEEN (1901)

HER hand was still on her sword-hilt, the spur was still on her heel, She had not cast her harness of grey, war-dinted steel; High on her red-splashed charger, beautiful, bold, and browned, Bright-eyed out of the battle, the Young Queen rode to be crowned.

She came to the Old Queen's presence, in the Hall of Our Thousand Years — In the Hall of the Five Free Nations that are peers among their peers: Royal she gave the greeting, loyal she bowed the head, Crying — “Crown me, my Mother!” And the Old Queen rose and said: —

“How can I crown thee further? I know whose standard flies Where the clean surge takes the Leeuwin or the coral barriers rise. Blood of our foes on thy bridle, and speech of our friends in thy mouth — How can I crown thee further, O Queen of the Sovereign South?

“Let the Five Free Nations witness!” But the Young Queen answered swift: — “It shall be crown of Our crowning to hold Our crown for a gift. In. the days when Our folk were feeble thy sword made sure Our lands: Wherefore We come in power to take Our crown at thy hands.”

And the Old Queen raised and kissed her, and the jealous circlet prest, Roped with the pearls of the Northland and red with the gold of the West, Lit with her land's own opals, levin-hearted, alive, And the Five-starred Cross above them, for sign of the Nations Five.

So it was done in the Presence — in the Hall of Our Thousand Years, In the face of the Five Free Nations that have no peer but their peers; And the Young Queen out of the Southland kneeled down at the Old Queen's knee, And asked for a mother's blessing on the excellent years to be.

And the Old Queen stooped in the stillness where the jewelled head drooped low: — “Daughter no more but Sister, and doubly Daughter so — Mother of many princes — and child of the child I bore, What good thing shall I wish thee that I have not wished before?

“Shall I give thee delight in dominion — mere pride of thy setting forth? Nay, we be women together — we know what that lust is worth. Peace in thy utmost borders, and strength on a road untrod? These are dealt or diminished at the secret will of God.

“I have swayed troublous councils, I am wise in terrible things; Father and son and grandson, I have known the hearts of the Kings. Shall I give thee my sleepless wisdom, or the gift all wisdom above? Ay, we be women together — I give thee thy people's love:

“Tempered, august, abiding, reluctant of prayers or vows, Eager in face of peril as thine for thy mother's house. God requite thee, my Sister, through the excellent years to be, And make thy people to love thee as thou hast loved me!” THE BEGINNINGS (1915, published 1917)

It was not part of their blood, It came to them very late, With long arrears to make good, When the Saxon began to hate.

They were not easily moved, They were icy — willing to wait Till every count should be proved, Ere the Saxon began to hate.

Their voices were even and low. Their eyes were level and straight. There was neither sign nor show When the Saxon began to hate.

It was not preached to the crowd. It was not taught by the state. No man spoke it aloud When the Saxon began to hate.

It was not suddenly bred. It will not swiftly abate. Through the chilled years ahead, When Time shall count from the date That the Saxon began to hate. THE SONG OF THE WHITE MEN (1899)

Now this is the cup the White Men drink When they go to right a wrong, And that is the cup of the old world's hate — Cruel and stained and strong. We have drunk that cup — and a bitter, bitter cup — And tossed the dregs away. But well for the world when the White Men drink To the dawn of the White Man's day!

Now this is the road that the White Men tread When they go to clean a land — Iron underfoot and levin overhead And the deep on either hand. We have trod that road — and a wet and windy road — Our chosen star for guide. Oh, well for the world when the White Men tread Their highway side by side!

Now, this is the faith that the White Men hold When they build their homes afar — "Freedom for ourselves and freedom for our sons And, failing freedom, War." We have proved our faith — bear witness to our faith, Dear souls of freemen slain! Oh, well for the world when the White Men join To prove their faith again! WHITE MAN'S BURDEN (February 12, 1899, "McClure's Magazine")

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, An hundred times made plain. To seek another's profit, And work another's gain.

Take up the White Man's burden — The savage 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 tawdry lie 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 humour (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 cry or whisper, By all ye leave or do, The silent, sullen peoples Shall weigh your Gods 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!

BlueBonnet

2005-07-10 04:34 | User Profile

[QUOTE=Faust]The Stranger Within My Gate - Rudyard Kipling

     The stranger within my gate.
     He may be true or kind.
     But he does not talk -
     I cannot feel his mind.
     I see the face and the eyes and the mouth,
     But not the soul behind.

     The men of my own stock
     They may do ill or well.
     But they tell the lies I am wonted to,
     They are used to the lies I tell.
     We do not need interpreters
     When we go to buy or sell.

     The Stranger within my gates.
     He may be evil or good,
     But I cannot tell what powers control -
     what reasons sway his mood;
     Nor when the Gods of his far-off land
     May repossess his blood.

     The men of my own stock,
     Bitter bad they may be,
     But, at least they hear the things I hear
     And see the things I see;
     And whatever I think of them and their likes
     They think of the likes of me.

     This was my father's belief
     And this is also mine:
     Let the corn be all one sheaf - And the grapes be all one vine
     Ere our children's teeth are set on edge
     By bitter bread and wine.

     Rudyard Kipling[/QUOTE] Wow. Couldn't have said any better.

I found a set of Rudyard Kiplings complete works at Half Price Books, I've been trying to save up to go get them.

Faust

2005-07-12 00:59 | User Profile

BlueBonnet,

Yes, Kipling was a great writer. Wow, a complete works set that is a lot of Kipling! [QUOTE] Wow. Couldn't have said any better. I found a set of Rudyard Kiplings complete works at Half Price Books, I've been trying to save up to go get them.[/QUOTE]

Mentzer

2005-07-19 04:12 | User Profile

The Law:

"Now this is the Law of the Jungle - as old and true as the sky,

And the Wolf that shall keep it may prosper, but the Wolf that shall break it must die.

As the creeper that girdles the tree-trunk the Law runneth forward and back.

For the strength of the Pack is the Wolf - and the strength of the Wolf is the Pack".

Kipling

Mentzer

BlueBonnet

2005-07-20 01:03 | User Profile

Well I got the Kipling set that I was saving up for at Half Price for $75, I've been looking around and the cheapest this set goes for is $125. This is a set that was made in about 1920 and it has a gold swastika emblem in green on the spine.

Faust

2005-07-20 07:48 | User Profile

BlueBonnet

Well I do hope you enjoy them. I found some his descriptions of places he traveled to around the world rather interesting. The set at the Library I go to has gold swastikas on the cover of every book. I understand Kipling was fond of swastikas.

[QUOTE]Well I got the Kipling set that I was saving up for at Half Price for $75, I've been looking around and the cheapest this set goes for is $125. This is a set that was made in about 1920 and it has a gold swastika emblem in green on the spine.[/QUOTE]

BlueBonnet

2005-07-21 02:40 | User Profile

[QUOTE=Faust]BlueBonnet

Well I do hope you enjoy them. I found some his descriptions of places he traveled to around the world rather interesting. The set at the Library I go to has gold swastikas on the cover of every book. I understand Kipling was fond of swastikas.[/QUOTE] Yeah I'm assuming he picked up the symbol in India. It is an ancient Aryan symbol. I could tell the books had to be before WWII, to many idiots out there to allow it to be on the cover today.

Faust

2005-08-07 03:48 | User Profile

BlueBonnet,

[QUOTE]Yeah I'm assuming he picked up the symbol in India. It is an ancient Aryan symbol. I could tell the books had to be before WWII, to many idiots out there to allow it to be on the cover today.[/QUOTE]

Yes you do not see them much anymore. Fylfot Cross a.k.a. Swastika was used by the Anglo-Saxons and was used in heraldry and can be found carved on some mediaeval ruins in England as well. I saw an old quilt patten book from the 1920's that had number of swastika block pattens.

Faust

2005-08-21 04:11 | User Profile

BlueBonnet,

More stuff.

Scanned image of the swastika logo from a Rudyard Kipling book - a 1911 edition of Puck of Pook's Hill.

[url]http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Image:Kipling_swastika.png[/url]

BlueBonnet

2005-09-03 17:53 | User Profile

[QUOTE=Faust]BlueBonnet,

More stuff.

Scanned image of the swastika logo from a Rudyard Kipling book - a 1911 edition of Puck of Pook's Hill.

[url="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Image:Kipling_swastika.png"]http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Image:Kipling_swastika.png[/url][/QUOTE] that's cool.

Faust

2005-09-10 08:11 | User Profile

More Kipling stuff:

"The White Man's Burden" and Its Critics: Anti-Imperialism, 1898-1935 (Jim Zwick) Kipling's poem set in a very extensive array of contextual materials on imperialism.

[url]http://www.boondocksnet.com/kipling/index.html[/url]