Poem Rudyard Kipling

Mary’s Son

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If you stop to find out what your wages will be
 And how they will clothe and feed you,
Willie, my son, don’t you go on the Sea.
 For the Sea will never need you.

If you ask for the reason of every command,
 And argue with people about you,
Willie, my son, don’t you go on the Land,
 For the Land will do better without you.

If you stop to consider the work you have done
 And to boast what your labour is worth, dear,
Angels may come for you, Willie, my son,
 But you’ll never be wanted on Farth, dear!

The Masque of Plenty
Mary, Pity Women!

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