Where is the man of equal part,
To rule by right divine of power;
With statesman's head and soldier's heart,
And all the ages' dreadful dower
Brought to a bright and perfect flower--
From whom a nobler course may start?
We hear but faction's fume and cry,
With England in her agony.
Where is the master mind that reads
The far-off issues of the day,
And with a willing nation pleads
That loves to own a master sway?
Where are the landmarks on the way,
Set up alone by him who leads?
We vainly ask a common creed
To make us one in England's need.
Is there no man with broader reach
To fill a thorny throne of care,
And bravely act and bravely teach
Because in all he has a share?
No helper who will do and dare,
And stand a bulwark in the breach?
Have we no lord of England's fate,
Though coming from a cottage gate?
O surely somewhere is the hand
To grasp and guide this reeling realm,
While in the hour-glass sinks the sand
And faints the pilot at the helm;
If billows break to overwhelm,
Yet he will conquer and command.
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