'McAndrew 's Hymn' by Rudyard Kipling
AI and Tech Aggregator
Download Mp3s Free
Tears of the Kingdom Roleplay
Best Free University Courses Online
TOTK Roleplay
Lord, Thou hast made this world below the shadow of a dream,
An', taught by time, I tak' it so -- exceptin' always Steam.
From coupler-flange to spindle-guide I see Thy Hand, O God --
Predestination in the stride o' yon connectin'-rod.
John Calvin might ha' forged the same -- enorrmous, certain, slow --
Ay, wrought it in the furnace-flame -- ~my~ "Institutio".
I cannot get my sleep to-night; old bones are hard to please;
I'll stand the middle watch up here -- alone wi' God an' these
My engines, after ninety days o' race an' rack an' strain
Through all the seas of all Thy world, slam-bangin' home again.
Slam-bang too much -- they knock a wee -- the crosshead-gibs are loose;
But thirty thousand mile o' sea has gied them fair excuse. . . .
Fine, clear an' dark -- a full-draught breeze, wi' Ushant out o' sight,
An' Ferguson relievin' Hay.Old girl, ye'll walk to-night!
His wife's at Plymouth. . . .Seventy --
One -- Two -- Three since he began --
Three turns for Mistress Ferguson. . .and who's to blame the man?
There's none at any port for me, by drivin' fast or slow,
Since Elsie Campbell went to Thee, Lord, thirty years ago.
(The year the ~Sarah Sands~ was burned.Oh roads we used to tread,
Fra' Maryhill to Pollokshaws -- fra' Govan to Parkhead!)
Not but they're ceevil on the Board.Ye'll hear Sir Kenneth say:
"Good-morrn, M'Andrew!Back again?An' how's your bilge to-day?"
Miscallin' technicalities but handin' me my chair
To drink Madeira wi' three Earls -- the auld Fleet Engineer,
That started as a boiler-whelp -- when steam and he were low.
I mind the time we used to serve a broken pipe wi' tow.
Ten pound was all the pressure then -- Eh!Eh! -- a man wad drive;
An' here, our workin' gauges give one hunder fifty-five!
We're creepin' on wi' each new rig -- less weight an' larger power:
There'll be the loco-boiler next an' thirty knots an hour!
Thirty an' more.What I ha' seen since ocean-steam began
Leaves me no doot for the machine:but what about the man?
The man that counts, wi' all his runs, one million mile o' sea:
Four time the span from earth to moon. . . .How far, O Lord, from Thee?
That wast beside him night an' day.Ye mind my first typhoon?
It scoughed the skipper on his way to jock wi' the saloon.
Three feet were on the stokehold-floor -- just slappin' to an' fro --
An' cast me on a furnace-door.I have the marks to show.
Marks!I ha' marks o' more than burns -- deep in my soul an' black,
An' times like this, when things go smooth, my wickudness comes back.
The sins o' four and forty years, all up an' down the seas,
Clack an' repeat like valves half-fed. . . .Forgie's our trespasses.
Nights when I'd come on deck to mark, wi' envy in my gaze,
The couples kittlin' in the dark between the funnel stays;
Years when I raked the ports wi' pride to fill my cup o' wrong --
Judge not, O Lord, my steps aside at Gay Street in Hong-Kong!
Blot out the wastrel hours of mine in sin when I abode --
Jane Harrigan's an' Number Nine, The Reddick an' Grant Road!
An' waur than all -- my crownin' sin -- rank blasphemy an' wild.
I was not four and twenty then -- Ye wadna judge a child?
I'd seen the Tropics first that run -- new fruit, new smells, new air --
How could I tell -- blind-fou wi' sun -- the Deil was lurkin' there?
By day like playhouse-scenes the shore slid past our sleepy eyes;
By night those soft, lasceevious stars leered from those velvet skies,
In port (we used no cargo-steam) I'd daunder down the streets --
An ijjit grinnin' in a dream -- for shells an' parrakeets,
An' walkin'-sticks o' carved bamboo an' blowfish stuffed an' dried --
Fillin' my bunk wi' rubbishry the Chief put overside.
Till, off Sambawa Head, Ye mind, I heard a land-breeze ca',
Milk-warm wi' breath o' spice an' bloom:"M'Andrew, come awa'!"
Firm, clear an' low -- no haste, no hate -- the ghostly whisper went,
Just statin' eevidential facts beyon' all argument:
"Your mither's God's a graspin' deil, the shadow o' yoursel',
Got out o' books by meenisters clean daft on Heaven an' Hell.
They mak' Him in the Broomielaw, o' Glasgie cold an' dirt,
A jealous, pridefu' fetich, lad, that's only strong to hurt,
Ye'll not go back to Him again an' kiss His red-hot rod,
But come wi' Us" (Now, who were ~They~?) "an' know the Leevin' God,
That does not kipper souls for sport or break a life in jest,
But swells the ripenin' cocoanuts an' ripes the woman's breast."
An' there it stopped:cut off:no more; that quiet, certain voice --
For me, six months o' twenty-four, to leave or take at choice.
'Twas on me like a thunderclap -- it racked me through an' through --
Temptation past the show o' speech, unnameable an' new --
The Sin against the Holy Ghost? . . .An' under all, our screw.
That storm blew by but left behind her anchor-shiftin' swell,
Thou knowest all my heart an' mind, Thou knowest, Lord, I fell.
Third on the ~Mary Gloster~ then, and first that night in Hell!
Yet was Thy hand beneath my head, about my feet Thy care --
Fra' Deli clear to Torres Strait, the trial o' despair,
But when we touched the Barrier Reef Thy answer to my prayer!
We dared not run that sea by night but lay an' held our fire,
An' I was drowsin' on the hatch -- sick -- sick wi' doubt an' tire:
"~Better the sight of eyes that see than wanderin' o' desire!~"
Ye mind that word?Clear as our gongs -- again, an' once again,
When rippin' down through coral-trash ran out our moorin'-chain;
An' by Thy Grace I had the Light to see my duty plain.
Light on the engine-room -- no more -- bright as our carbons burn.
I've lost it since a thousand times, but never past return.
.....
Obsairve.Per annum we'll have here two thousand souls aboard --
Think not I dare to justify myself before the Lord,
But -- average fifteen hunder souls safe-borne fra' port to port --
I ~am~ o' service to my kind.Ye wadna blame the thought?
Maybe they steam from grace to wrath -- to sin by folly led, --
It isna mine to judge their path -- their lives are on my head.
Mine at the last -- when all is done it all comes back to me,
The fault that leaves six thousand ton a log upon the sea.
We'll tak' one stretch -- three weeks an' odd by any road ye steer --
Fra' Cape Town east to Wellington -- ye need an engineer.
Fail there -- ye've time to weld your shaft -- ay, eat it, ere ye're spoke;
Or make Kerguelen under sail -- three jiggers burned wi' smoke!
An' home again, the Rio run:it's no child's play to go
Steamin' to bell for fourteen days o' snow an' floe an' blow --
The bergs like kelpies overside that girn an' turn an' shift
Whaur, grindin' like the Mills o' God, goes by the big South drift.
(Hail, snow an' ice that praise the Lord:I've met them at their work,
An' wished we had anither route or they anither kirk.)
Yon's strain, hard strain, o' head an' hand, for though Thy Power brings
All skill to naught, Ye'll understand a man must think o' things.
Then, at the last, we'll get to port an' hoist their baggage clear --
The passengers, wi' gloves an' canes -- an' this is what I'll hear:
"Well, thank ye for a pleasant voyage.The tender's comin' now."
While I go testin' follower-bolts an' watch the skipper bow.
They've words for every one but me -- shake hands wi' half the crew,
Except the dour Scots engineer, the man they never knew.
An' yet I like the wark for all we've dam' few pickin's here --
No pension, an' the most we earn's four hunder pound a year.
Better myself abroad?Maybe.~I'd~ sooner starve than sail
Wi' such as call a snifter-rod ~ross~. . .French for nightingale.
Commeesion on my stores?Some do; but I can not afford
To lie like stewards wi' patty-pans --.I'm older than the Board.
A bonus on the coal I save?Ou ay, the Scots are close,
But when I grudge the strength Ye gave I'll grudge their food to ~those~.
(There's bricks that I might recommend -- an' clink the fire-bars cruel.
No!Welsh -- Wangarti at the worst -- an' damn all patent fuel!)
Inventions?Ye must stay in port to mak' a patent pay.
My Deeferential Valve-Gear taught me how that business lay,
I blame no chaps wi' clearer head for aught they make or sell.
~I~ found that I could not invent an' look to these -- as well.
So, wrestled wi' Apollyon -- Nah! -- fretted like a bairn --
But burned the workin'-plans last run wi' all I hoped to earn.
Ye know how hard an Idol dies, an' what that meant to me --
E'en tak' it for a sacrifice acceptable to Thee. . . .
~Below there!Oiler!What's your wark?Ye find it runnin' hard?
Ye needn't swill the cap wi' oil -- this isn't the Cunard!
Ye thought?Ye are not paid to think.Go, sweat that off again!~
Tck!Tck!It's deeficult to sweer nor tak' The Name in vain!
Men, ay an' women, call me stern.Wi' these to oversee
Ye'll note I've little time to burn on social repartee.
The bairns see what their elders miss; they'll hunt me to an' fro,
Till for the sake of -- well, a kiss -- I tak' 'em down below.
That minds me of our Viscount loon -- Sir Kenneth's kin -- the chap
Wi' Russia leather tennis-shoon an' spar-decked yachtin'-cap.
I showed him round last week, o'er all -- an' at the last says he:
"Mister M'Andrew, don't you think steam spoils romance at sea?"
Damned ijjit!I'd been doon that morn to see what ailed the throws,
Manholin', on my back -- the cranks three inches off my nose.
Romance!Those first-class passengers they like it very well,
Printed an' bound in little books; but why don't poets tell?
I'm sick of all their quirks an' turns -- the loves an' doves they dream --
Lord, send a man like Robbie Burns to sing the Song o' Steam!
To match wi' Scotia's noblest speech yon orchestra sublime
Whaurto -- uplifted like the Just -- the tail-rods mark the time.
The crank-throws give the double-bass, the feed-pump sobs an' heaves,
An' now the main eccentrics start their quarrel on the sheaves:
Her time, her own appointed time, the rocking link-head bides,
Till -- hear that note? -- the rod's return
whings glimmerin' through the guides.
They're all awa'!True beat, full power, the clangin' chorus goes
Clear to the tunnel where they sit, my purrin' dynamos.
Interdependence absolute, foreseen, ordained, decreed,
To work, Ye'll note, at any tilt an' every rate o' speed.
Fra' skylight-lift to furnace-bars, backed, bolted, braced an' stayed,
An' singin' like the Mornin' Stars for joy that they are made;
While, out o' touch o' vanity, the sweatin' thrust-block says:
"Not unto us the praise, or man -- not unto us the praise!"
Now, a' together, hear them lift their lesson -- theirs an' mine:
"Law, Orrder, Duty an' Restraint, Obedience, Discipline!"
Mill, forge an' try-pit taught them that when roarin' they arose,
An' whiles I wonder if a soul was gied them wi' the blows.
Oh for a man to weld it then, in one trip-hammer strain,
Till even first-class passengers could tell the meanin' plain!
But no one cares except mysel' that serve an' understand
My seven thousand horse-power here.
Eh, Lord!They're grand -- they're grand!
Uplift am I?When first in store the new-made beasties stood,
Were Ye cast down that breathed the Word declarin' all things good?
Not so!O' that warld-liftin' joy no after-fall could vex,
Ye've left a glimmer still to cheer the Man -- the Arrtifex!
~That~ holds, in spite o' knock and scale, o' friction, waste an' slip,
An' by that light -- now, mark my word -- we'll build the Perfect Ship.
I'll never last to judge her lines or take her curve -- not I.
But I ha' lived an' I ha' worked. 'Be thanks to Thee, Most High!
An' I ha' done what I ha' done -- judge Thou if ill or well --
Always Thy Grace preventin' me. . . .
Losh!Yon's the "Stand by" bell.
Pilot so soon?His flare it is.The mornin'-watch is set.
Well, God be thanked, as I was sayin', I'm no Pelagian yet.
Now I'll tak' on. . . .
~'Morrn, Ferguson.Man, have ye ever thought
What your good leddy costs in coal? . . .I'll burn 'em down to port.
Editor 1 Interpretation
McAndrew's Hymn: A Masterpiece of Rudyard Kipling
Rudyard Kipling, the renowned British poet, wrote McAndrew's Hymn in 1890. The poem is a tribute to the Scottish engineer, Andrew McAndrew, who worked for the British Navy in the late 19th century. McAndrew was a remarkable man, who had a strong work ethic and a deep respect for the sea. Kipling's poem is a testament to McAndrew's character and his love for the ocean.
Overview of the Poem
McAndrew's Hymn is a long poem, consisting of 12 stanzas. Each stanza is made up of four lines, with the first and third lines rhyming with each other, and the second and fourth lines rhyming with each other. The poem is an ode to the sea and the men who work on it. It is written in a Scottish dialect, which adds to the authenticity of the poem.
Themes
The poem has several themes, including the sea, work, and dedication. The sea is the central theme of the poem, and Kipling portrays it as a powerful and majestic force. He describes the sea as a "mighty herds o' waves" and a "brazen bulls o' Bashan". Kipling also portrays the sea as a dangerous place, where men can easily lose their lives. He describes the sea as a "cauldron o' brew" and a "pit o' Hell".
The other theme of the poem is work. Kipling portrays the men who work on the sea as hardworking and dedicated. He describes them as "grimy-handed" and "weary men". The men work long hours, often in dangerous conditions, but they do it because they love the sea. Kipling also emphasizes the importance of dedication in the poem. He describes McAndrew as a man who "lo'ed an' served the Lord" and who "never slacked nor sloomed".
Interpretation
McAndrew's Hymn is a complex poem that can be interpreted in several ways. One interpretation is that the poem is a celebration of the Scottish work ethic. Kipling portrays the men who work on the sea as hardworking and dedicated, and he emphasizes the importance of working hard and being dedicated to one's job.
Another interpretation of the poem is that it is a tribute to the power of the sea. Kipling describes the sea as a majestic and powerful force, and he emphasizes the danger and unpredictability of the sea. The poem can be seen as a warning to those who underestimate the power of the sea.
Finally, the poem can also be interpreted as a tribute to Andrew McAndrew, the engineer who worked for the British Navy. McAndrew was a remarkable man, who had a strong work ethic and a deep respect for the sea. Kipling's poem is a testament to McAndrew's character and his love for the ocean.
Literary Devices
Kipling uses several literary devices in McAndrew's Hymn. One of the most prominent devices is the use of dialect. Kipling writes the poem in a Scottish dialect, which adds to the authenticity of the poem. The use of dialect also adds to the poem's theme of hard work and dedication, as it emphasizes the Scottish work ethic.
Another literary device that Kipling uses is imagery. He describes the sea in vivid detail, using metaphors and similes to create a powerful image of the sea in the reader's mind. For example, Kipling describes the sea as a "cauldron o' brew" and a "pit o' Hell". These images create a sense of danger and unpredictability, which adds to the poem's overall theme.
Kipling also uses repetition in the poem, particularly in the first and last lines of each stanza. The repetition of these lines creates a sense of rhythm and reinforces the poem's themes of dedication and hard work.
Conclusion
McAndrew's Hymn is a masterpiece of Rudyard Kipling. The poem celebrates the sea and the men who work on it, while also emphasizing the importance of hard work and dedication. Kipling's use of dialect and imagery creates a powerful image of the sea and the men who work on it, while his use of repetition creates a sense of rhythm and reinforces the poem's themes. McAndrew's Hymn is a timeless poem that continues to inspire readers today.
Editor 2 Analysis and Explanation
Poetry McAndrew's Hymn: A Masterpiece by Rudyard Kipling
Rudyard Kipling, the renowned English poet, novelist, and short-story writer, is known for his exceptional works that have stood the test of time. One of his most celebrated works is Poetry McAndrew's Hymn, a poem that captures the essence of the working-class life and the power of poetry to inspire and uplift the human spirit.
The poem is a tribute to Poetry McAndrew, a Scottish engineer who worked on the construction of the Forth Bridge in Scotland. McAndrew is portrayed as a man of great skill and strength, who is respected and admired by his fellow workers. He is also a man of great wisdom, who understands the value of poetry and its ability to bring hope and joy to those who are struggling.
The poem begins with McAndrew's hymn, a song that he sings to himself as he works on the bridge. The hymn is a celebration of the power of poetry, and its ability to inspire and uplift the human spirit. McAndrew sings:
"O ye who read the glancing Of mirth and pride and woe, Who never yet have chancing To hear the verse we know; We're all poor sons o' bitches Who'd sooner sink than swim, But we can still give riches To you poor sons o' whim."
These lines capture the essence of McAndrew's philosophy, which is that poetry is a gift that can be shared with everyone, regardless of their social status or circumstances. McAndrew sees himself and his fellow workers as "poor sons o' bitches," but he also sees them as people who have something valuable to offer to the world.
The poem goes on to describe McAndrew's work on the bridge, and the challenges that he and his fellow workers face. They work long hours in difficult conditions, and they are constantly in danger of falling or being injured. But McAndrew remains steadfast in his commitment to his work, and he continues to sing his hymn as a way of inspiring himself and his fellow workers.
The poem also explores the theme of mortality, as McAndrew reflects on the fact that he and his fellow workers are all mortal, and that their lives are fleeting. He sings:
"We're all poor sons o' bitches, Who'll soon be stiff and still, But there's no law says we'll snuffle Before the job's to fill."
These lines capture the sense of urgency that McAndrew feels, as he realizes that his time on earth is limited. He knows that he must make the most of his life, and that he must use his talents and his love of poetry to inspire others and make a difference in the world.
The poem concludes with a powerful image of McAndrew standing on the bridge, looking out at the world and singing his hymn. He is a symbol of hope and inspiration, a man who has overcome adversity and who has found meaning and purpose in his work. The final lines of the poem capture the essence of McAndrew's philosophy, as he sings:
"Then here's to Poetry McAndrew, And all the sons o' men Who've dared to build a bridge across The dark and deadly glen."
These lines are a tribute to all those who have worked to build bridges, both literal and metaphorical, in the face of adversity. They are a celebration of the human spirit, and of the power of poetry to inspire and uplift us all.
In conclusion, Poetry McAndrew's Hymn is a masterpiece of English literature, a poem that captures the essence of the working-class life and the power of poetry to inspire and uplift the human spirit. Rudyard Kipling's use of language and imagery is masterful, and his portrayal of McAndrew as a man of great skill, strength, and wisdom is both inspiring and moving. This poem is a testament to the enduring power of poetry, and to the human spirit that it celebrates.
Editor Recommended Sites
Idea Share: Share dev ideas with other developers, startup ideas, validation checkingCloud Consulting - Cloud Consulting DFW & Cloud Consulting Southlake, Westlake. AWS, GCP: Ex-Google Cloud consulting advice and help from the experts. AWS and GCP
Rust Book: Best Rust Programming Language Book
Knowledge Graph Consulting: Consulting in DFW for Knowledge graphs, taxonomy and reasoning systems
Roleplay Metaverse: Role-playing in the metaverse
Recommended Similar Analysis
Little Summer Poem Touching The Subject Of Faith by Mary Oliver analysisOn This Day I Complete My Thirty-Sixth Year by Lord Byron analysis
The Divine Image by William Blake analysis
Lord Ullin's Daughter by Thomas Campbell analysis
Barter by Sara Teasdale analysis
Rhapsody On A Windy Night by T.S. Eliot analysis
Long Distance II by Tony Harrison analysis
What mystery pervades a well! by Emily Dickinson analysis
Spring is like a perhaps hand... (III) by e.e. cummings analysis
Further in Summer than the Birds by Emily Dickinson analysis