| | PAGE |
| A Nation spoke to a Nation, | [104] |
| As our mother the Frigate, bepainted and fine, | [9] |
| Before a midnight breaks in storm, | [vii] |
| Duly with knees that feign to quake, | [123] |
| For things we never mention, | [39] |
| God gave all men all earth to love, | [81] |
| Her hand was still on her sword-hilt, the spur was still on her heel, | [118] |
| In extended observation of the ways and works of man, | [107] |
| Now the Four-way Lodge is opened, now the Hunting Winds are loose, | [44] |
| Oh glorious are the guarded heights, | [70] |
| Oh Hubshee, carry your shoes in your hand and bow your head on your breast! | [113] |
| Oh ye who tread the Narrow Way, | [90] |
| Said England unto Pharaoh, ‘I must make a man of you,’ | [98] |
| Take up the White Man’s burden, | [94] |
| The God of Fair Beginnings, | [32] |
| ‘There’s no sense in going further—it’s the edge of cultivation,’ | [61] |
| The strength of twice three thousand horse, | [13] |
| They christened my brother of old, | [4] |
| This is our lot if we live so long and labour unto the end, | [57] |
| We have no heart for the fishing, we have no hand for the oar, | [26] |
| We’ve sent our little Cupids all ashore, | [23] |
| When I was a King and a Mason—a Master proven and skilled, | [78] |
| When that great Kings return to clay, | [74] |
| When the darkened Fifties dip to the North, | [87] |
| Where run your colts at pasture, | [18] |
| Who hath desired the Sea?—the sight of salt water unbounded, | [1] |
| With those that bred, with those that loosed the strife, | [77] |
| Yearly, with tent and rifle, our careless white men go, | [51] |