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BY ELIZA COOK.
There's a land that bears a well-known name, Though it is but a little spot; I say 'tis the first on the scroll of fame, And who shall aver it is not?
Of the deathless ones who s.h.i.+ne and live In arms, in arts, or song, The brightest the whole wide world can give To that little land belong.
'Tis the star of the Earth--deny it who can-- The Island-home of the Englishman.
There's a flag that waves o'er every sea, No matter when or where; And to treat that flag as aught but the free Is more than the strongest dare.
For the lion spirits that tread the deck Have carried the palm of the brave; And that flag may sink with a shot-torn wreck, But never float o'er a slave; Its honour is stainless--deny it who can-- And this is the flag of the Englishman.
There's a heart that beats with burning glow, The wrong'd and the weak to defend; And strikes as soon for a trampled foe As it does for a soul-bound friend.
It nurtures a deep and honest love, The pa.s.sions of faith and pride, And yearns with the fondness of a dove, To the light of its own fireside, 'Tis a rich rough gem--deny it who can-- And this is the heart of an Englishman.
The Briton may traverse the pole or the zone And boldly claim his right, For he calls such a vast domain his own That the sun never sets on his might.
Let the haughty stranger seek to know The place of his home and birth; And a flush will pour from cheek to brow While he tells of his native earth; For a glorious charter--deny it who can-- Is breathed in the words, "I'm an Englishman."
ENGLAND GOES TO BATTLE.
BY GERALD Ma.s.sEY.
Now, glory to our England, She arises, calm and grand, The ancient spirit in her eyes,-- The good sword in her hand!
Our royal right on battle-ground Was aye to bear the brunt: Ho! brave heart, with one pa.s.sionate bound, Take the old place in front!
Now glory to our England, As she rises, calm and grand, The ancient spirit in her eyes,-- The good sword in her hand!
Who would not fight for England?
Who would not fling a life I' the ring, to meet a Tyrant's gage, And glory in the strife?
Her stem is th.o.r.n.y, but doth burst A glorious Rose a-top!
And shall our proud Rose wither? First We'll drain life's dearest drop!
Who would not fight for England?
Who would not fling a life I' the ring, to meet a tyrant's gage, And glory in the strife?
To battle goes our England, As gallant and as gay As lover to the altar, on A merry marriage-day.
A weary night she stood to watch The clouds of dawn up-rolled; And her young heroes strain to match The valour of the old.
To battle goes our England, As gallant and as gay As lover to the altar, on A merry marriage-day.
Now, fair befall our England, On her proud and perilous road: And woe and wail to those who make Her footprints wet with blood.
Up with our red-cross banner--roll A thunder-peal of drums!
Fight on there, every valiant soul Have courage! England comes!
Now, fair befall our England, On her proud and perilous road: And woe and wail to those who make Her footprints wet with blood!
Now, victory to our England!
And where'er she lifts her hand In freedom's fight, to rescue Right, G.o.d bless the dear old land!
And when the Storm hath pa.s.sed away, In glory and in calm, May she sit down i' the green o' the day, And sing her peaceful psalm!
Now victory to our England!
And where'er she lifts her hand In freedom's fight, to rescue Right, G.o.d bless the dear old land!
ENGLAND ONCE MORE.
BY FRANCIS TURNER PALGRAVE.
Old if this England be The s.h.i.+p at heart is sound, And the fairest she and gallantest That ever sail'd earth round!
And children's children in the years Far off will live to see Her silver wings fly round the world, Free heralds of the free!
While now on Him who long has bless'd To bless her as of yore, Once more we cry for England, England once more!
They are firm and fine, the masts; And the keel is straight and true; Her ancient cross of glory Rides burning through the blue:-- And that red sign o'er all the seas The nations fear and know, And the strong and stubborn hero-souls That underneath it go:-- While now on Him who long has bless'd To bless her as of yore, Once more we cry for England, England once more!
Prophets of dread and shame, There is no place for you, Weak-kneed and craven-breasted, Among this English crew!
Bluff hearts that cannot learn to yield, But as the waves run high, And they can almost touch the night, Behind it see the sky.
While now on Him who long has bless'd To bless her as of yore, Once more we cry for England, England once more!
As Past in Present hid, As old transfused to new, Through change she lives unchanging, To self and glory true; From Alfred's and from Edward's day Who still has kept the seas, To him who on his death-morn spoke Her watchword on the breeze!
While now on Him who long has bless'd To bless her as of yore, Once more we cry for England, England once more!
What blasts from East and North What storms that swept the land Have borne her from her bearings Since Caesar seized the strand!
Yet that strong loyal heart through all Has steer'd her sage and free, --Hope's armour'd Ark in glooming years, And whole world's sanctuary!
While now on Him who long has bless'd To bless her as of yore, Once more we cry for England, England once more!
Old keel, old heart of oak, Though round thee roar and chafe All storms of life, thy helmsman Shall make the haven safe!
Then with Honour at the head, and Faith, And Peace along the wake, Law blazon'd fair on Freedom's flag, Thy stately voyage take:-- While now on Him who long has bless'd To bless Thee as of yore, Once more we cry for England, England once more!
G.o.d DEFEND THE RIGHT.
BY F. HARALD WILLIAMS.
Where Roman eagle never flew The flag of England flies, The herald of great empires new Beneath yet larger skies; Upon a hundred lands and seas, And over ransomed slaves Who poured to her no idle pleas, The pledge of Freedom waves; Whatever man may well have done We have with dauntless might, And England holds what England won, And G.o.d defends the right.
Where hardly climb the mountain goats, On stormy cape and crag, The refuge of the wanderer floats-- Our hospitable flag; While alien banners only mock With glory's fleeting wraith, It stands on the eternal rock Of our eternal faith; And handed on from sire and son, It furls not day nor night; So England holds what England won, And G.o.d defends the right.
When wrongs cry out for brave redress, Our justice does not lag, And in the name of righteousness Moves on our stainless flag; The helpless see it proudly s.h.i.+ne And hail the sheltering robe, That heralds on the thin red line That girdles round the globe; A pioneer of truth as none Before it scatters light, And England holds what England won, And G.o.d defends the right.
Beneath the shadow of its peace Though riddled to a rag, The down-trod nations gain release, And rally round the flag; We fight the battles of the Lord, And never may we yield A foot we measure with the sword-- On the red harvest-field; And we will not retreat, while one Stout heart remains to fight; Let England hold what England won, And G.o.d defend the right.
THE VOLUNTEER.
