Why is it that I can never lay my hands on a poem when I need it.

Here is a favourite by Rudyard Kipling for my own future reference

The Disciple

He that hath a Gospel
To loose upon mankind,
Though he serve it utterly-
Body, soul and mind-
Though he go to Calvary
Daily for its gain-
It is his Disciple
Shall make his labour vain.

He that hath a Gospel
For all earth to own-
Though he etch it on the steel,
Or carve it on the stone-
Not to be misdoubted
Through the after-days -
It is his Disciple
Shall read it many ways.

It is his Disciple
(Ere those bones are dust)
Who shall change the Charter,
Who shall split the Trust -
Amplify distinctions,
Rationalise the claim;
Preaching that the Master
Would have done the same.

It is his Disciple
Who will tell us how
Much the Master would have scrapped
Had he lived till now -
What he would have modified
Of what he said before,
It is his disciple
Shall do this and more....

He that hath a Gospel
Whereby heaven is won
(Carpenter or Cameleer
Or Maya's dreaming son),
Many swords shall pierce him,
Mingling blood with gall;
But his own disciple
Shall wound him worst of all.

Rudyard Kipling