One Moment Past Our Bodies Cast No Shadow On The Plain; Now Clear And Black They Stride Our Track, And We Run Home Again. In Morning-Hush, Each Rock And Bush Stands Hard, And High, And Raw: Then Give The Call: "Good Rest To All That Keep The Jungle Law!" Now Horn And Pelt Our Peoples Melt In Covert To Abide; Now, Crouched And Still, To Cave And Hill Our Jungle Barons Glide. Now, Stark And Plain, Man'S Oxen Strain, That Draw The New-Yoked Plough; Now, Stripped And Dread, The Dawn Is Red Above The Lit Talao. Ho! Get To Lair! The Sun'S Aflare Behind The Breathing Grass: And Creaking Through The Young Bamboo The Warning Whispers Pass. By Day Made Strange, The Woods We Range With Blinking Eyes We Scan; While Down The Skies The Wild Duck Cries: "The Day--The Day To Man!" The Dew Is Dried That Drenched Our Hide, Or Washed About Our Way; And Where We Drank, The Puddled Bank Is Crisping Into Clay. The Traitor Dark Gives Up Each Mark Of Stretched Or Hooded Claw: Then Hear The Call: "Good Rest To All That Keep The Jungle Law!"