Jobsons Amen

Blessed be the English and all their ways and works.     Cursed be the Infidels, Hereticks, and Turks!     Amen, quo Jobson, but where I used to lie     Was neither Candle, Bell nor Book to curse my brethren by,     But a palm-tree in full bearing, bowing down, bowing down,     To a surf that drove unsparing at the brown, walled town,     Conches in a temple, oil-lamps in a dome,     And a low moon out of Africa said: This way home!     Blessed be the English and all that they profess.     Cursed be the Savages that prance in nakedness!     Amen, quo Jobson, but where I used to lie     Was neither shirt nor pantaloons to catch my brethren by:     But a well-wheel slowly creaking, going round, going round,     By a water-channel leaking over drowned, warm ground,     Parrots very busy in the trellised pepper-vine,     And a high sun over Asia shouting: Rise and shine!     Blessd be the English and everything they own.     Cursed be the Infidels that bow to wood and stone!     Amen, quo Jobson, but where I used to lie     Was neither pew nor Gospelleer to save my brethren by:     But a desert stretched and stricken, left and right, left and right,     Where the piled mirages thicken under white-hot light,     A skull beneath a sand-hill and a viper coiled inside,     And a red wind out of Libya roaring: Run and hide!     Blessd be the English and all they make or do.     Cursd be the Hereticks who doubt that this is true!     Amen, quo Jobson, but where I mean to die     Is neither rule nor calliper to judge the matter by:     But Himalaya heavenward-heading, sheer and vast, sheer and vast,     In a million summits bedding on the last worlds past,     A certain sacred mountain where the scented cedars climb,     And, the feet of my Beloved hurrying back through Time!