Songs Of The Road

Name: Songs Of The Road
Author: Doyle, Arthur Conan
Doyle, Arthur Conan
English poetry
Set Thy guard over us,
              May Thy shield cover us,
                 Enfold and uphold us
                 On land and on sea!
              From the palm to the pine,
              From the snow to the line,
                 Brothers together
                 And children of Thee.

     God guard our Indian brothers,
          The Children of the Sun,
     Guide us and walk beside us,
          Until Thy will be done.
     To all be equal measure,
          Whate'er his blood or birth,
     Till we shall build as Thou hast willed
          O'er all Thy fruitful Earth.

     May we maintain the story
          Of honest, fearless right!
     Not ours, not ours the Glory!
          What are we in Thy sight?
     Thy servants, and no other,
          Thy servants may we be,
     To help our weaker brother,
          As we crave for help from Thee!

              Set Thy guard over us,
              May Thy shield cover us,
              Enfold and uphold us
                 On land and on sea!
              From the palm to the pine,
              From the snow to the line,
                 Brothers together
                 And children of Thee.




SIR NIGEL'S SONG

     A sword! A sword! Ah, give me a sword!
          For the world is all to win.
     Though the way be hard and the door be
             barred,
          The strong man enters in.
     If Chance or Fate still hold the gate,
          Give me the iron key,
     And turret high, my plume shall fly,
          Or you may weep for me!

     A horse! A horse! Ah, give me a horse,
          To bear me out afar,
     Where blackest need and grimmest deed,
          And sweetest perils are.
     Hold thou my ways from glutted days,
          Where poisoned leisure lies,
     And point the path of tears and wrath
          Which mounts to high emprise.

     A heart! A heart! Ah, give me a heart,
          To rise to circumstance!
     Serene and high, and bold to try
          The hazard of a chance.
     With strength to wait, but fixed as fate,
          To plan and dare and do;
     The peer of all and only thrall,
          Sweet lady mine, to you!




THE ARAB STEED

     I gave the 'orse 'is evenin' feed,
          And bedded of 'im down,
     And went to 'ear the sing-song
          In the bar-room of the Crown,
     And one young feller spoke a piece
          As told a kind of tale,
     About an Arab man wot 'ad
          A certain 'orse for sale.

     I 'ave no grudge against the man &mdash;
          I never 'eard 'is name,
     But if he was my closest pal
          I'd say the very same,
     For wot you do in other things
          Is neither 'ere nor there,
     But w'en it comes to 'orses
          You must keep upon the square.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
Songs Of The Road

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