Pharaoh stood up as though he had finished. ‘Yes,’ said Puck, rising too. ‘And what came out of it in the long run?’ ‘Let me get at my story my own way,’ was the answer. ‘Look! it’s later than I thought. That Shoreham smack’s thinking of her supper.’ The children looked across the darkening Channel. A smack had hoisted a lantern and slowly moved west where Brighton pier lights ran out in a twinkling line. When they turned round The Gap was empty behind them. ‘I expect they’ve packed our trunks by now,’ said Dan. ‘This time tomorrow we’ll be home.’ IF-- 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! ‘A PRIEST IN SPITE OF HIMSELF’ A St Helena Lullaby How far is St Helena from a little child at play? What makes you want to wander there with all the world between? Oh, Mother, call your son again or else he’ll run away. (No one thinks of winter when the grass is green!) How far is St Helena from a fight in Paris street? I haven’t time to answer now--the men are falling fast. The guns begin to thunder, and the drums begin to beat (If you take the first step you will take the last!) How far is St Helena from the field at Austerlitz? You couldn’t hear me if I told--so loud the cannons roar. But not so far for people who are living by their wits. [‘Gay go up’ means ‘gay go down’ the wide world o’er!)