Jobson’s Amen
‘Blessed be the English and all their ways and works.
Cursed be the Infidels, Hereticks, and Turks!’
‘Amen,’ quo’ Jobson, ‘but where I used to lie
Was neither Candle, Bell nor Book to curse my brethren by:
‘But a palm-tree in full bearing, bowing down, bowing down,
To a surf that drove unsparing at the brown-walled town —
Conches in a temple, oil-lamps in a dome —
And a low moon out of Africa said: “This way home!”’
‘Blessed be the English and all that they profess.
Cursed be the Savages that prance in nakedness!’
‘Amen,’ quo’ Jobson, ‘but where I used to lie
Was neither shirt nor pantaloons to catch my brethren by:
‘But a well-wheel slowly creaking, going round, going round,
By a water-channel leaking over drowned, warm ground —
Parrots very busy in the trellised pepper-vine —
And a high sun over Asia shouting: “Rise and shine!”’
