The Masonic Poetry of Rudyard Kipling

1. The Masonic Poetry of Rudyard Kipling An Appreciation by John Davies Presented to Lodge St Michael No. 2933

2. A Brief Biography 1865 - Kipling is born in Bombay, India. 1871 - Kipling and his younger sister Alice are separated from their parents and sent to England to be educated. 1878 - Kipling enters public school in North Devon. 1882 - Kipling ends his formal education and returns to India to become a trainee journalist. 1886 - Publication of Departmental Ditties. Kipling begins to make a name for himself as a young writer of some repute. 1887 - Soldiers Three, In Black and White, The Phantom Rickshaw, Wee Willie Winkle, The Story of the Gadsbys, and the stories later collected in The Smith Administration, The City of Dreadful Night, and Letters of Marque, were all written and published.

3. Masonic Career • On 5th April 1886 He was initiated a Freemason in the Lodge Hope and Perseverance, No. 782, E.C., at Lahore, by dispensation from the District Grand Master, Kipling being only 20 years old at the time. • His proposer was Wor. Bro. Colonel 0. Menzies; he was seconded by Bro. C. Brown. He was initiated by the W.M., Bro. Colonel G. B. Wolseley. • He was passed on May 3rd following, there being only seven Brethren present, and raised on the 6th December, 1886. • He was for a short time Secretary of the Lodge. • In 1887 Kipling became a Mark Master and a Royal Ark Mariner. • Having left Lahore to reside at Allahabad, on April 17th, 1888, he became a member of the old Lodge, "Independence with Philanthropy," Allahabad. In March, 1889, he was put on the absent list of that Lodge, and resigned in 1895 from America where he was then residing. • From the time he finally left India for the last time in 1889 to his death in 1936 there are few records of him attending lodge, although he was an elected honorary member of several English, and especially Sussex lodges. • In 1918 he was elected member of the Correspondence Circle of Qautuor Coronati Lodge no. 2076 but there are no records of him presenting any papers . • His active participation in regular organised freemasonry effectively ended when he left India for the last time aged twenty five.

4. 1889 - Kipling returns to London and embarks upon a decade of rising fame and extreme productivity. Kim, The Jungle Book, Stalky and Co., Captain’s Courageous , The Seven Seas and The DaysWork are all published to great success. 1891- Marries Caroline Balestier and emigrates to the USA 1899 - Death of first born child, Josephine, in New York. 1900 - Begins sojourn in South Africa. Becomes leading proponent of the Boer War. 1907 - Wins Nobel Prize 1908 - Greatly disillusioned by the Liberal governments policy in South Africa, Kipling returns to England. 1914 - World War one begins. Kipling believes his long-held suspicion of the Germans has been justified. He once more becomes an enthusiastic proponent of the British war effort. 1915 - Kipling’s 18 year old son John disappears in battle. Kipling never really recovers from the loss. Kipling is diagnosed with the ailments that would later kill him. 1936 - Rudyard Kipling dies. 1937 - Something of Myself, Kipling’s sketchy collection of autobiographical writings is published.

5. The Mother-Lodge (From Barrack Room Ballads) THERE was Rundle, Station Master,     An’ Beazeley of the Rail,An’ ’Ackman, Commissariat,     An’ Donkin’ o’ the Jail;An’ Blake, Conductor-Sargent,     Our Master twice was ’e,With ’im that kept the Europe-shop,     Old Framjee Eduljee. Outside—“Sergeant! Sir! Salute! Salaam!”Inside—“Brother”, an’ it doesn’t do no ’arm.We met upon the Level an’ we parted on the Square,An’ I was Junior Deacon in my Mother-Lodge out there! We’d Bola Nath, Accountant,     An’ Saul the Aden Jew,An’ Din Mohammed, draughtsman     Of the Survey Office too;There was Babu Chuckerbutty,     An’ Amir Singh the Sikh,An’ Castro from the fittin’-sheds,     The Roman Catholick! We ’adn’t good regalia,     An’ our Lodge was old an’ bare,But we knew the Ancient Landmarks,     An’ we kep’ ’em to a hair;An’ lookin’ on it backwards     It often strikes me thus,There ain’t such things as infidels,     Excep’, per’aps, it’s us. For monthly, after Labour,     We’d all sit down and smoke(We dursn’t give no banquits,     Lest a Brother’s caste were broke),An’ man on man got talkin’     Religion an’ the rest,An’ every man comparin’     Of the God ’e knew the best. So man on man got talkin’,     An’ not a Brother stirredTill mornin’ waked the parrots     An’ that dam’ brain-fever-bird;We’d say ’twas ’ighly curious,     An’ we’d all ride ’ome to bed,With Mo’ammed, God, an’ Shiva     Changin’ pickets in our ’ead. Full oft on Guv’ment service     This rovin’ foot ’ath pressed,An’ bore fraternal greetin’s     To the Lodges east an’ west,Accordin’ as commanded     From Kohat to Singapore,But I wish that I might see them     In my Mother-Lodge once more! I wish that I might see them,     My Brethren black an’ brown,With the trichies smellin’ pleasant     An’ the hog-darn passin’ down;An’ the old khansamah snorin’     On the bottle-khana floor,Like a Master in good standing     With my Mother-Lodge once more! Outside—“Sergeant! Sir! Salute! Salaam!”Inside—“Brother”, an’ it doesn’t do no ’arm.We met upon the Level an’ we parted on the Square,An’ I was Junior Deacon in my Mother-Lodge out there!

6. When Earth's last picture is painted and the tubes are twisted and dried,When the oldest colours have faded, and the youngest critic has died,We shall rest, and, faith, we shall need it -- lie down for an aeon or two,Till the Master of All Good Workmen shall put us to work anew!And those that were good shall be happy: they shall sit in a golden chair;They shall splash at a ten-league canvas with brushes of comets' hair;They shall find real saints to draw from -- Magdalene, Peter, and Paul;They shall work for an age at a sitting and never be tired at all!And only the Master shall praise us, and only the Master shall blame;And no one shall work for money, and no one shall work for fame,But each for the joy of the working, and each, in his separate star,Shall draw the Thing as he sees It for the God of Things as They Are! L’Envoi to The Seven Seas

7. My new-cut ashlar takes the lightWhere crimson-blank the windows flare.By my own work before the night,Great Overseer, I make my prayer. If there be good in that I wroughtThy Hand compelled it, Master, Thine--Where I have failed to meet Thy ThoughtI know, through Thee, the blame was mine. One instant's toil to Thee deniedStands all Eternity's offence.Of that I did with Thee to guide,To Thee, through Thee, be excellence. The depth and dream of my desire,The bitter paths wherein I stray--Thou knowest Who has made the Fire,Thou knowest Who has made the Clay. Who, lest all thought of Eden fade,Bring'st Eden to the craftsman's brain--Godlike to muse oÕer his own TradeAnd manlike to stand with God again! One stone the more swings into placeIn that dread Temple of Thy worth.It is enough that, through Thy Grace,I saw nought common on Thy Earth. Take not that vision from my ken--Oh, whatsoe'er may spoil or speed,Help me to need no aid from menThat I many help such men as need! My new-cut ashlar (L’Envoi to Life’s Handicap)

11. Be’old a crowd upon the beam,     An’ ’umped above the sea appears Old Aden, like a barrick-stove     That no one’s lit for years an’ years! (Extract from For to Admire)

12. I WAS the staunchest of our fleet    Till the sea rose beneath our feetUnheralded, in hatred past all measure.    Into his pits he stamped my crew,    Buffeted, blinded, bound and threw,Bidding me eyeless wait upon his pleasure. Man made me, and my will     Is to my maker still, Whom now the currents con, the rollers steer—     Lifting forlorn to spy         Trailed smoke along the sky, Falling afraid lest any keel come near! Wrenched as the lips of thirst,Wried, dried, and split and burst,Bone-bleached my decks, wind-scoured to the graining;     And jarred at every roll  The gear that was my soul Answers the anguish of my beams’ complaining. For life that crammed me full,         Gangs of the prying gull That shriek and scrabble on the riven hatches!         For roar that dumbed the gale,         My hawse-pipes guttering wail, Sobbing my heart out through the uncounted watches! Blind in the hot blue ring         Through all my points I swing— Swing and return to shift the sun anew.         Blind in my well-known sky         I hear the stars go by, Mocking the prow that cannot hold one true! White on my wasted pathWave after wave in wrath Frets ’gainst his fellow, warring where to send me.         Flung forward, heaved aside,     Witless and dazed I bide The mercy of the comber that shall end me. North where the bergs careen,The spray of seas unseen Smokes round my head and freezes in the falling;     South where the corals breed,    The footless, floating weed Folds me and fouls me, strake on strake upcrawling. I that was clean to run    My race against the sun— Strength on the deep, am bawd to all disaster—         Whipped forth by night to meet         My sister’s careless feet, And with a kiss betray her to my master! Man made me, and my will         Is to my maker still— To him and his, our peoples at their pier:         Lifting in hope to spy         Trailed smoke along the sky, Falling afraid lest any keel come near! The Derelict

15. ‘Banquet Night’ ‘ONCE in so often,’ King Solomon said,   Watching his quarrymen drill the stone,‘We will club our garlic and wine and bread    And banquet together beneath my ThroneAnd all the Brethren shall come to that messAs Fellow-Craftsmen—no more and no less. ‘Send a swift shallop to Hiram of Tyre,   Felling and floating our beautiful trees,Say that the Brethren and I desire   Talk with our Brethren who use the seas.And we shall be happy to meet them at messAs Fellow-Craftsmen—no more and no less. ‘Carry this message to Hiram Abif—  Excellent Master of forge and mine:—I and the Brethren would like it if    He and the Brethren will come to dine(Garments from Bozrah or morning-dress)As Fellow-Craftsmen—no more and no less. ‘God gave the Hyssop and Cedar their place—  Also the Bramble, the Fig and the Thorn—But that is no reason to black a man’s face    Because he is not what he hasn’t been born.And, as touching the Temple, I hold and professWe are Fellow-Craftsmen—no more and no less.’ So it was ordered and so it was done,    And the hewers of wood and the Masons of Mark,With foc’sle hands of the Sidon run    And Navy Lords from the Royal Ark,Came and sat down and were merry at messAs Fellow-Craftsmen—no more and no less. And the hewers of wood and the Masons of Mark,With foc’sle hands of the Sidon run    And Navy So it was ordered and so it was done, Lords from the Royal Ark,Came and sat down and were merry at messAs Fellow-Craftsmen—no more and no less. The Quarries are hotter than Hiram’s forge, No one is safe from the dog-whips’ reach.It’s mostly snowing up Lebanon gorge, And it’s always blowing off Joppa beach;But once in so often, the messenger bringsSolomon’s mandate: ‘Forget these things!Brother to Beggars and Fellow to Kings,Companion of Princes—forget these things!Fellow-Craftsman, forget these things!’

16. 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 DisasterAnd treat those two impostors just the same;If you can bear to hear the truth you've spokenTwisted 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 beginningsAnd never breathe a word about your loss;If you can force your heart and nerve and sinewTo serve your turn long after they are gone,And so hold on when there is nothing in youExcept 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 minuteWith 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!

17. A Pilgrim's Way I do not look for holy saints to guide me on my way,Or male and female devilkins to lead my feet astray.If these are added, I rejoice---if not, I shall not mind,So long as I have leave and choice to meet my fellow-kind.For as we come and as we go (and deadly-soon go we!)The people, Lord, Thy people, are good enough for me! Thus I will honour pious men whose virtue shines so bright(Though none are more amazed than I when I by chance do right),And I will pity foolish men for woe their sins have bred(Though ninety-nine per cent. of mine I brought on my own head).And, Amorite or Eremite, or General Averagee,The people, Lord, Thy people, are good enough for me! And when they bore me overmuch, I will not shake mine ears,Recalling many thousand such whom I have bored to tears.And when they labour to impress, I will not doubt nor scoff;Since I myself have done no less and---sometimes pulled it off.Yea, as we are and we are not, and we pretend to be,The people, Lord, Thy people, are good enough for me! And when they work me random wrong, as oftentimes hath been,I will not cherish hate too long (my hands are none too clean).And when they do me random good I will not feign surprise.No more than those whom I have cheered with wayside charities.But, as we give and as we take---whate'er our takings be---The people, Lord, Thy people, are good enough for me! But when I meet with frantic folk who sinfully declareThere is no pardon for their sin, the same I will not spareTill I have proved that Heaven and Hell which in our hearts we haveShow nothing irredeemable on either side of the grave.For as we live and as we die---if utter Death there be---The people, Lord, Thy people, are good enough for me! Deliver me from every pride---the Middle, High, and Low---That bars me from a brother's side, whatever pride he show.And purge me from all heresies of thought and speech and penThat bid me judge him otherwise than I am judged. Amen!That I may sing of Crowd or King or road-borne company,That I may labour in my day, vocation and degree,To prove the same in deed and name, and hold unshakenly(Where'er I go, whate'er I know, whoe'er my neighbor be)This single faith in Life and Death and to Eternity:"The people, Lord, Thy people, are good enough for me”

18. RAHERE, King Henry's jester, feared by all the Norman Lords For his eye that pierced their bosoms, for his tongue that shamed their swords;Feed and flattered by the Churchmen - well they knew how deep he stoodIn dark Henry's crooked counsels - fell upon an evil mood. Rahere Suddenly, his days before him and behind him seemed to stand Stripped and barren, fixed and fruitless as those leagues of naked sand When St. Michael's ebb slinks outward to the bleak horizon-bound,And the trampling wide-mouthed waters are withdrawn from sight and sound. Then a Horror of Great Darkness sunk his spirit and anon,(Who had seen him wince and whiten as he turned to walk alone) Followed Gilbert the Physician, and muttered in his ear, "Thou hast it, O my brother?" "Yea, I have it," said Rahere. "So it comes," said Gilbert smoothly, "man's most immanent distress.'Tis a humour of the Spirit which abhorreth all excess;And, whatever breed the surfeit - Wealth, or Wit, or Power, or Fame (And thou hast each) the Spirit laboureth to expel the same. "Hence the dulled eye's deep self-loathing - hence the loaded leaden brow; Hence the burden of Wanhope that aches thy soul and body now.Ay, the merriest fool must face it, and the wisest Doctor learn;For it comes - it comes," said Gilbert, " as it passes - to return." But Rahere was in his torment, and he wandered, dumb and far,Till he came to reeking Smithfield where the crowded gallows are..(Followed Gilbert the Physician) and beneath the wrynecked dead,Sat a leper and his woman, very merry, breaking bread. He was cloaked from chin to ankle - faceless, fingerless, obsceneMere corruption swaddled man-wise, but the woman whole and clean;And she waited on him crooning, and Rahere beheld the twain,Each delighting in the other, and he checked and groaned again. So it comes, - it comes," said Gilbert, "as it came when Life began.'Tis a motion of the Spirit that revealeth God to man.In the shape of Love exceeding, which regards not taint or fall,Since in perfect Love, saith Scripture, can be no excess at all. Hence the eye that sees no blemish - hence the hour that holds no shame.Hence the Soul assured the Essence and the Substance are the same.Nay, the meanest need not miss it, though the mightier pass it by;For it comes - it comes," said Gilbert, "and, thou seest, it does not die!"

19. The Appeal IF I have given you delight     By aught that I have done, Let me lie quiet in that night     Which shall be yours anon: And for the little, little, span    The dead are borne in mind, Seek not to question other than     The books I leave behind.