Tuesday, November 11, 2014


The Garden called Gethsemane   
In Picardy it was,   
And there the people came to see   
The English soldiers pass.
We used to pass - we used to pass   
Or halt, as it might be,
And ship our masks in case of gas   
Beyond Gethsemane.

The Garden called Gethsemane,   
It held a pretty lass,
But all the time she talked to me
I prayed my cup might pass.   
The officer sat on the chair,
The men lay on the grass,   
And all the time we halted there
I prayed my cup might pass.

It didn’t pass - it didn’t pass -
It didn’t pass from me.
I drank it when we met the gas   
Beyond Gethsemane.

-Rudyard Kipling

Kipling's only son died fighting in the First World War. 

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