There's never a flood goes shoreward now 



But lifts some keel we have manned; 

 There's never an ebb* goes seaward now 



But drops our dead on the sand, 

 But slinks our dead on the sands forlore, 



From the Ducies to the Swin, 

 If blood be the price of Admiralty, 



Lord God, we ha' paid it in! 



The 



Human 



Harvest 



We must feed our sea for a thousand years. 



For that is our doom and pride. 

 As it was when they sailed with the Golden Hind 



Or the wreck that struck last tide; 

 Or the wreck that lies on the spouting reef 



When the ghastly blue-lights flare: 

 If blood be the price of Admiralty, 



Lord God, we ha' bought it fair! 



Again, referring to dominion on land, Kip- 

 ling warns the British soldier: — 



Walk wide o' the widow at Windsor, 



For 'alf o' creation she owns: 

 We 'ave bought 'er the same with the sword 

 an' the flame. 



An' we've salted it down with our bones. 



(Poor beggars ! — it's blue with our bones !) 



The 



IVidotv at 

 Windsor 



[89] 



