Mithras, God of the Sunset, low on the Western main—
Thou descending immortal, immortal to rise again!
Now when the watch is ended, now when the wine is drawn,
Mithras, also a soldier, keep us pure till the dawn!
Mithras, God of the Midnight, here where the great bull dies,
Look on thy children in darkness. Oh take our sacrifice!
Many roads thou hast fashioned—all of them lead to the Light:
Mithras, also a soldier, teach us to die aright!
THE NEW KNIGHTHOOD
Who gives him the Bath?
'I,' said the wet,
Rank Jungle-sweat,
'I'll give him the Bath!'
Who'll sing the psalms?
'We,' said the Palms.
'Ere the hot wind becalms,
We'll sing the psalms.'
Who lays on the sword?
'I,' said the Sun,
'Before he has done,
I'll lay on the sword.'
Who fastens his belt?
'I,' said Short-Rations,
'I know all the fashions
Of tightening a belt!'
Who gives him his spur?
'I,' said his Chief,
Exacting and brief,
'I'll give him the spur.'
Who'll shake his hand?
'I,' said the Fever,
'And I'm no deceiver,
I'll shake his hand.'
Who brings him the wine?
'I,' said Quinine,
'It's a habit of mine.
'I'll come with the wine.'