If history were taught in the form of stories, it would never be forgotten.

Words are, of course, the most powerful drug used by mankind.

Few poets are more beloved by more people than Rudyard Kipling. A favorite of readers both young and old, known the world over, Rudyard Kipling’s poems – and stories – have proven both popular and evergreen.

Born Joseph Rudyard Kipling in 1865, Kipling was the son of Britons born in Bombay, India. At the age of five, young Kipling was sent to England to be educated, a traumatic experience that marked his childhood. Uncomfortable in England, Kipling returned to India as soon as he was able, at the age of 17. Kipling’s first – and only job – was as a writer, beginning as a journalist and editor for a magazine for Britons living in India.

In 1886, Kipling’s first collection of poetry, Departmental Ditties and Other Verses was published. Only two years later, he published his first book of prose, Plain Tales from the Hills.

In the early 1890s, Kipling gained worldwide fame with the publication of Barrack-Room Ballad, in which were two of his most famous poems, the exotic “Gunga Din” and “Mandalay.” These poems brought the experience of Britons in India to the world at large, and only encouraged Kipling to continue to write poems and stories about India, tales and verses of adventure that brought a country unknown to most to readers worldwide.

Kipling married in 1892 and left his beloved India for Vermont, where he continued his fascination with India by writing the two Jungle Books and Kim. For several years he traveled the world, both with his family and alone, spending the Boer War in South Africa, continuing to publish both prose and poetry, including the novel Captains Courageous and Just-So Stories.

In 1901, Kipling and his family settled in Sussex, England, permanently. While in Sussex, Kipling wrote many poems and stories, among them his best-known poem, “If.”

Rudyard Kipling died on January 18, 1936. At the time of his death, he was one of the most famous and beloved authors of his time. From the whimsy and humor of Just-So Stories to the adventure of “Gunga-Din” to the stately advice of “If,” Rudyard Kipling’s writing has proven to be timeless, and still fascinates and delights children and adults alike.

Poems By Rudyard Kipling:

Gunga-Din

You may talk o\' gin an\' beer
When you\'re quartered safe out \'ere,
An\' you\'re sent to penny-fights an\' Aldershot it;
But if it comes to slaughter
You will do your work on water,
An\' you\'ll lick the bloomin\' boots of \'im that\'s got it.
Now in Injia\'s sunny clime,
Where I used to spend my time
A-servin\' of \'Er Majesty the Queen,
Of all them black-faced crew
The finest man I knew
Was our regimental bhisti, Gunga Din.

It was \"Din! Din! Din!
You limping lump o\' brick-dust, Gunga Din!
Hi! slippy hitherao!
Water, get it! Panee lao!
You squidgy-nosed old idol, Gunga Din!\"

The uniform \'e wore
Was nothin\' much before,
An\' rather less than \'arf o\' that be\'ind,
For a twisty piece o\' rag
An\' a goatskin water-bag
Was all the field-equipment \'e could find.
When the sweatin\' troop-train lay
In a sidin\' through the day,
Where the \'eat would make your bloomin\' eyebrows crawl,
We shouted \"Harry By!\"
Till our throats were bricky-dry,
Then we wopped \'im \'cause \'e couldn\'t serve us all.

It was \"Din! Din! Din!
You \'eathen, where the mischief \'ave you been?
You put some juldee in it,
Or I\'ll marrow you this minute,
If you don\'t fill up my helmet, Gunga Din!\"

\'E would dot an\' carry one
Till the longest day was done,
An\' \'e didn\'t seem to know the use o\' fear.
If we charged or broke or cut,
You could bet your bloomin\' nut,
\'E\'d be waitin\' fifty paces right flank rear.
With \'is mussick on \'is back,
\'E would skip with our attack,
An\' watch us till the bugles made \"Retire.\"
An\' for all \'is dirty \'ide,
\'E was white, clear white, inside
When \'e went to tend the wounded under fire!

It was \"Din! Din! Din!\"
With the bullets kickin\' dust-spots on the green.
When the cartridges ran out,
You could \'ear the front-files shout:
\"Hi! ammunition-mules an\' Gunga Din!\"

I sha\'n\'t forgit the night
When I dropped be\'ind the fight
With a bullet where my belt-plate should \'a\' been.
I was chokin\' mad with thirst,
An\' the man that spied me first
Was our good old grinnin\', gruntin\' Gunga Din.

\'E lifted up my \'ead,
An\' \'e plugged me where I bled,
An\' \'e guv me \'arf-a-pint o\' water-green;
It was crawlin\' an\' it stunk,
But of all the drinks I\'ve drunk,
I\'m gratefullest to one from Gunga Din.

It was \"Din! Din! Din!
\'Ere\'s a beggar with a bullet through \'is spleen;
\'E\'s chawin\' up the ground an\' \'e\'s kickin\' all around:
For Gawd\'s sake, git the water, Gunga Din!\"

\'E carried me away
To where a dooli lay,
An\' a bullet come an\' drilled the beggar clean.
\'E put me safe inside,
An\' just before \'e died:
\"I \'ope you liked your drink,\" sez Gunga Din.
So I\'ll meet \'im later on
In the place where \'e is gone-
Where it\'s always double drill and no canteen;
\'E\'ll be squattin\' on the coals
Givin\' drink to pore damned souls,
An\' I\'ll get a swig in Hell from Gunga Din!

Din! Din! Din!
You Lazarushian-leather Gunga Din!
Tho\' I\'ve belted you an\' flayed you,
By the livin\' Gawd that made you,
You\'re a better man than I am, Gunga Din!

If

If you can keep your head when all about you
Are losing theirs and blaming it on you;
If you can trust yourself when all men doubt you,
But make allowance for their doubting too;
If you can wait and not be tired by waiting,
Or, being lied about, don\'t deal in lies,
Or, being hated, don\'t give way to hating,
And yet don\'t look too good, nor talk too wise;

If you can dream--and not make dreams your master;
If you can think--and not make thoughts your aim;
If you can meet with triumph and disaster
And treat those two impostors just the same;
If you can bear to hear the truth you\'ve spoken
Twisted by knaves to make a trap for fools,
Or watch the things you gave your life to broken,
And stoop and build \'em up with wornout tools;

If you can make one heap of all your winnings
And risk it on one turn of pitch-and-toss,
And lose, and start again at your beginnings
And never breathe a word about your loss;
If you can force your heart and nerve and sinew
To serve your turn long after they are gone,
And so hold on when there is nothing in you
Except the Will which says to them: \"Hold on\";

If you can talk with crowds and keep your virtue,
Or walk with kings--nor lose the common touch;
If neither foes nor loving friends can hurt you;
If all men count with you, but none too much;
If you can fill the unforgiving minute
With sixty seconds\' worth of distance run--
Yours is the Earth and everything that\'s in it,
And--which is more--you\'ll be a Man, my son!

Seal Lullaby

Oh! hush thee, my baby, the night is behind us,
And black are the waters that sparkled so green.
The moon, o\'er the combers, looks downward to find us
At rest in the hollows that rustle between.
Where billow meets billow, there soft be thy pillow;
Ah, weary wee flipperling, curl at thy ease!
The storm shall not wake thee, nor shark overtake thee,
Asleep in the arms of the slow-swinging seas.
