The snow had begun in the gloaming,
   And busily all the night
Had been heaping field and highway
   With a silence deep and white.

Every pine and fir and hemlock
   Wore ermine too dear for an earl,
And the poorest twig on the elm-tree
   Was ridged inch deep with pearl.

From sheds new-roofed with Carrara
   Came Chanticleer's muffled crow,
The stiff rails were softened to swan's-down,
   And still fluttered down the snow.

I stood and watched by the window
   The noiseless work of the sky,
And the sudden flurries of snow-birds,
   Like brown leaves whirling by.

I thought of a mound in sweet Auburn
   Where a little headstone stood;
How the flakes were folding it gently,
   As did robins the babes in the wood.

Up spoke our own little Mabel,
   Saying, "Father, who makes it snow?"
And I told of the good All-father
   Who cares for us here below.

Again I looked at the snow-fall,
   And thought of the leaden sky
That arched o'er our first great sorrow,
   When that mound was heaped so high.

I remembered the gradual patience
   That fell from that cloud-like snow,
Flake by flake, healing and hiding
   The scar of our deep-plunged woe.

And again to the child I whispered,
   "The snow that husheth all,
Darling, the merciful Father
   Alone can make it fall!"

Then, with eyes that saw not, I kissed her;
   And she, kissing back, could not know
That my kiss was given to her sister,
   Folded close under deepening snow.

This poem is in the public domain.

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 wornout 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!

This poem is in the public domain.

You may talk o' gin an' beer  
When you're quartered safe out 'ere,  
An' you're sent to penny-fights an' Aldershot it;  
But if it comes to slaughter  
You will do your work on water,           
An' you'll lick the bloomin' boots of 'im that's got it.  
Now in Injia's sunny clime,  
Where I used to spend my time  
A-servin' of 'Er Majesty the Queen,  
Of all them black-faced crew     
The finest man I knew  
Was our regimental bhisti, Gunga Din.  

    It was "Din! Din! Din!  
    You limping lump o' brick-dust, Gunga Din!  
    Hi! slippy hitherao!     
    Water, get it! Panee lao!  
    You squidgy-nosed old idol, Gunga Din!"  

The uniform 'e wore  
Was nothin' much before,  
An' rather less than 'arf o' that be'ind,     
For a twisty piece o' rag  
An' a goatskin water-bag  
Was all the field-equipment 'e could find.  
When the sweatin' troop-train lay  
In a sidin' through the day,     
Where the 'eat would make your bloomin' eyebrows crawl,  
We shouted "Harry By!"  
Till our throats were bricky-dry,  
Then we wopped 'im 'cause 'e couldn't serve us all.  

    It was "Din! Din! Din!     
    You 'eathen, where the mischief 'ave you been?  
    You put some juldee in it,  
    Or I'll marrow you this minute,  
    If you don't fill up my helmet, Gunga Din!"  

'E would dot an' carry one     
Till the longest day was done,  
An' 'e didn't seem to know the use o' fear.  
If we charged or broke or cut,  
You could bet your bloomin' nut,  
'E'd be waitin' fifty paces right flank rear.     
With 'is mussick on 'is back,  
'E would skip with our attack,  
An' watch us till the bugles made "Retire."  
An' for all 'is dirty 'ide,  
'E was white, clear white, inside     
When 'e went to tend the wounded under fire!  

    It was "Din! Din! Din!"  
    With the bullets kickin' dust-spots on the green.  
    When the cartridges ran out,  
    You could 'ear the front-files shout:     
    "Hi! ammunition-mules an' Gunga Din!"  

I sha'n't forgit the night  
When I dropped be'ind the fight  
With a bullet where my belt-plate should 'a' been.  
I was chokin' mad with thirst,     
An' the man that spied me first  
Was our good old grinnin', gruntin' Gunga Din.  

'E lifted up my 'ead,  
An' 'e plugged me where I bled,  
An' 'e guv me 'arf-a-pint o' water—green;     
It was crawlin' an' it stunk,  
But of all the drinks I've drunk,  
I'm gratefullest to one from Gunga Din.  

    It was "Din! Din! Din!  
    'Ere's a beggar with a bullet through 'is spleen;     
    'E's chawin' up the ground an' 'e's kickin' all around:  
    For Gawd's sake, git the water, Gunga Din!"  

'E carried me away  
To where a dooli lay,  
An' a bullet come an' drilled the beggar clean.     
'E put me safe inside,  
An' just before 'e died:  
"I 'ope you liked your drink," sez Gunga Din.  
So I'll meet 'im later on  
In the place where 'e is gone—     
Where it's always double drill and no canteen;  
'E'll be squattin' on the coals  
Givin' drink to pore damned souls,  
An' I'll get a swig in Hell from Gunga Din!  

    Din! Din! Din!     
    You Lazarushian-leather Gunga Din!  
    Tho' I've belted you an' flayed you,  
    By the livin' Gawd that made you,  
    You're a better man than I am, Gunga Din!

This poem is in the public domain.