740
RUDYARD KIPLING'S VERSE
It was not suddenly bred, It will not swiftly abate, Through the chill years ahead, When Time shall count from the date That the English began to hate.
THE PRAYER
My BROTHER kneels, so saith Kabir, To stone and brass in heathen-wise, But in my brother's voice I hear My own unanswered agonies. His God is as his fates assign, His prayer is all the world's—and mine.
