Beast and Man in India
by Rudyard Kipling
Written for John Lockwood Kipling
They killed a Child to please the Gods
In Earth's young penitence,
And I have bled in that Babe's stead
Because of innocence.
I bear the sins of sinful men
That have no sin of my own,
They drive me forth to Heaven's wrath
Unpastured and alone.
I am the meat of sacrifice,
The ransom of man's guilt,
For they give my life to the altar-knife
Wherever shrine is built.
The Goat.
Between the waving tufts of jungle-grass,
Up from the river as the twilight falls,
Across the dust-beclouded plain they pass
On to the village walls.
Great is the sword and mighty is the pen,
But over all the labouring ploughman's blade--
For on its oxen and its husbandmen
An Empire's strength is laid.
The Oxen.
The torn boughs trailing o'er the tusks aslant,
The saplings reeling in the path he trod,
Declare his might--our lord the Elephant,
Chief of the ways of God.
The black bulk heaving where the oxen pant,
The bowed head toiling where the guns careen,
Declare our might--our slave the Elephant,
And servant of the Queen.
The Elephant.
Dark children of the mere and marsh,
Wallow and waste and lea,
Outcaste they wait at the village gate
With folk of low degree.
Their pasture is in no man's land,
Their food the cattle's scorn;
Their rest is mire and their desire
The thicket and the thorn.
But woe to those that break their sleep,
And woe to those that dare
To rouse the herd-bull from his keep,
The wild boar from his lair!
Pigs and Buffaloes.
The beasts are very wise,
Their mouths are clean of lies,
They talk one to the other,
Bullock to bullock's brother
Resting after their labours,
Each in stall with his neighbours.
But man with goad and whip,
Breaks up their fellowship,
Shouts in their silky ears
Filling their soul with fears.
When he has ploughed the land,
He says: They understand.
But the beasts in stall together,
Freed from the yoke and tether,
Say as the torn flanks smoke:
Nay, 'twas the whip that spoke.
A Poison Tree
By William Blake

I was angry with my friend:

I told my wrath, my wrath did end.
I was angry with my foe:
I told it not, my wrath did grow.

And I watered it in fears,

Night and morning with my tears;
And I sunned it with smiles,
And with soft deceitful wiles.

And it grew both day and night,

Till it bore an apple bright.
And my foe beheld it shine.
And he knew that it was mine,

And into my garden stole

When the night had veiled the pole;
In the morning glad I see
My foe outstretched beneath the tree.
Go slow my soul to feed thyself
by Emily Dickinson

Go slow, my soul, to feed thyself

Upon his rare approach --
Go rapid, lest Competing Death
Prevail upon the Coach --
Go timid, should his final eye
Determine thee amiss --
Go boldly -- for thou paid'st his price
Redemption -- for a Kiss --
Psalm 32
by Isaac Watts
Forgiveness of sins upon confession.

O Blessed souls are they

Whose sins are covered o'er!
Divinely blest, to whom the Lord
Imputes their guilt no more.

They mourn their follies past,

And keep their hearts with care;
Their lips and lives, without deceit,
Shall prove their faith sincere.

While I concealed my guilt,

I felt the fest'ring wound;
Till I confessed my sins to thee,
And ready pardon found.

Let sinners learn to pray,

Let saints keep near the throne;
Our help, in times of deep distress,
Is found in God alone.
Who are we in this complicated world?

if we come to sleep
we are His drowsy ones.

and if we come to wake

we are in His hands.

if we come to weeping,
we are His cloud full of raindrops.

and if we come to laughing,

we are His lightning in that moment.

if we come to anger and battle,

it is the reflection of His wrath.

and if we come to peace and pardon,

it is the reflection of His love.

who are we in this complicated world?

(from Rumi, Mathnawi 1, 1510 1513)