by Rudyard Kipling
Take of English earth as much As either hand may rightly clutch. In the taking of it breathe Prayer for all who lie beneath. Not the great nor well-bespoke, But the mere uncounted folk Of whose life and death is none Report or lamentation. Lay that earth upon thy heart, And thy sickness shall depart! It shall sweeten and make whole Fevered breath and festered soul. It shall mightily restrain Over-busied hand and brain. It shall ease thy mortal strife 'Gainst the immortal woe of life, Till thyself, restored, shall prove By what grace the Heavens do move. Take of English flowers these -- Spring's full-faced primroses, Summer's wild wide-hearted rose, Autumn's wall-flower of the close, And, thy darkness to illume, Winter's bee-thronged ivy-bloom. Seek and serve them where they bide From Candlemas to Christmas-tide, For these simples, used aright, Can restore a failing sight. These shall cleanse and purify Webbed and inward-turning eye; These shall show thee treasure hid Thy familiar fields amid; And reveal (which is thy need) Every man a King indeed!