Rudyard Kipling's "The Children's Song" The first two stanzas of that poem are: Land of our Birth, we pledge to thee Our love and toil in the years to be; When we are grown and take our place, As men and women with our race. Father in Heaven who lovest all, Oh help Thy children when they call; That they may build from age to age, An undefiled heritage. There are many other Kipling poems, equally dangerous, which have been deleted from every edition of his works published since the Second World War. Here are three of them: A Song of the White Men Now, this is the cup the White Men drink When they go to right a wrong, And that is the cup of the old world's hate -- Cruel and strained and strong. We have drunk that cup -- and a bitter, bitter cup And tossed the dregs away. But well for the world when the White Men drink To the dawn of the White Man's day! Now, this is the road that the White Men tread When they go to clean a land -- Iron underfoot and levin overhead And the deep on either hand. We have trod that road -- and a wet and windy road Our chosen star for guide. Oh, well for the world when the White Men tread Their highway side by side! Now, this is the faith that the White Men hold When they build their homes afar -- "Freedom for ourselves and freedom for our sons And, failing freedom, War. " We have proved our faith -- bear witness to our faith, Dear souls of freemen slain! Oh, well for the world when the White Men join To prove their faith again! The Stranger The Stranger within my gate, He may be true or kind, But he does not talk my talk -- I cannot feel his mind. I see the face and the eyes and the mouth, But not the soul behind. The men of my own stock They may do ill or well, But they tell the lies I am wonted to. They are used to the lies I tell, And we do not need interpreters When we go to buy and sell. The Stranger within my gates, He may be evil or good, But I cannot tell what powers control What reasons sway his mood; Nor when the Gods of his far-off land Shall repossess his blood. The men of my own stock, Bitter bad they may be, But, at least, they hear the things I hear, And see the things I see; And whatever I think of them and their likes They think of the likes of me. This was my father's belief And this is also mine: Let the corn be all one sheaf -- And the grapes be all one vine, Ere our children's teeth are set on edge By bitter bread and wine. Song of the Fifth River When first by Eden Tree, The Four Great Rivers ran, To each was appointed a Man Her Prince and Ruler to be. But after this was ordained, (The ancient legends tell), There came dark Israel, For whom no River remained. Then He Whom the Rivers obey Said to him: "Fling on the ground A handful of yellow clay, And a Fifth Great River shall run, Mightier than these Four, In secret the Earth around; And Her secret evermore, Shall be shown to thee and thy Race." So it was said and done. And, deep in the veins of Earth, And, fed by a thousand springs That comfort the market-place, Or sap the power of Kings, The Fifth Great River had birth, Even as it was foretold The Secret River of Gold! And Israel laid down His sceptre and his crown, To brood on that River bank, Where the waters flashed and sank, And burrowed in earth and fell, And bided a season below, For reason that none might know, Save only Israel. He is Lord of the Last -- The Fifth, most wonderful, Flood. He hears Her thunder past And Her Song is in his blood. He can foresay: "She will fall," For he knows which fountain dries Behind which desert-belt A thousand leagues to the South. He can foresay: "She will rise." He knows what far snows melt Along what mountain-wall A thousand leagues to the North. He snuffs the coming drouth As he snuffs the coming rain. He knows what each will bring forth, And turns it to his gain. A ruler without a Throne, A Prince without a Sword, Israel follows his quest. In every land a guest, Of many lands a lord, In no land King is he. But the Fifth Great River keeps The secret of Her deeps For Israel alone, As it was ordered to be.