Читать книгу Poems of To-Day: an Anthology - Various - Страница 17

  Shall we but turn from braggart pride

  Our race to cheapen and defame?

  Before the world to wail, to chide,

  And weakness as with vaunting claim?

  Ere the hour strikes, to abdicate

  The steadfast spirit that made us great,

  And rail with scolding tongues at fate?

  If England's heritage indeed

  Be lost, be traded quite away

  For fatted sloth and fevered greed;

  If, inly rotting, we decay;

  Suffer we then what doom we must,

  But silent, as befits the dust

  Of them whose chastisement was just.

  But rather, England, rally thou

  Whatever breathes of faith that still

  Within thee keeps the undying vow

  And dedicates the constant will.

  For such yet lives, if not among

  The boasters, or the loud of tongue,

  Who cry that England's knell is rung.

  The fault of heart, the small of brain,

  In thee but their own image find;

  Beyond such thoughts as these contain

  A mightier Presence is enshrined.

  Nor meaner than their birthright grown

  Shall these thy latest sons be shown,

  So thou but use them for thine own.

  By those great spirits burning high

  In our home's heaven, that shall be stars

  To shine, when all is history

  And rumour of old, idle wars;

  By all those hearts which proudly bled

  To make this rose of England red;

  The living, the triumphant dead;

  By all who suffered and stood fast

  That Freedom might the weak uphold,

  And in men's ways of wreck and waste

  Justice her awful flower unfold;

  By all who out of grief and wrong

  In passion's art of noble song

  Made Beauty to our speech belong;

  By those adventurous ones who went

  Forth overseas, and, self-exiled,

  Sought from far isle and continent

  Another England in the wild,

  For whom no drums beat, yet they fought

  Alone, in courage of a thought

  Which an unbounded future wrought;

  Yea, and yet more by those to-day

  Who toil and serve for naught of gain,

  That in thy purer glory they

  May melt their ardour and their pain;

  By these and by the faith of these,

  The faith that glorifies and frees,

  Thy lands call on thee, and thy seas.

  If thou hast sinned, shall we forsake

  Thee, or the less account us thine?

  Thy sores, thy shames on us we take.

  Flies not for us thy famed ensign?

  Be ours to cleanse and to atone;

  No man this burden bears alone;

  England, our best shall be thine own.

  Lift up thy cause into the light!

  Put all the factious lips to shame!

  Our loves, our faiths, our hopes unite

  And strike into a single flame!

  Whatever from without betide,

  O purify the soul of pride

  In us; thy slumbers cast aside;

  And of thy sons be justified!