It nurtures a deep and honest love,
The passions 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 MASSEY.
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 passionate 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 thorny, 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.
Pages:
243
244
245
246
247
248
249
250
251
252
253
254
255
256
257
258
259
260
261
262
263
264
265
266
267