JOHN BULL AND HIS ISLAND.
By Alfred H. Miles.
There’s a doughty little Island in the ocean,—
The dainty little darling of the free;
That pulses with the patriots’ emotion,
And the palpitating music of the sea:
She is first in her loyalty to duty;
She is first in the annals of the brave;
She is first in her chivalry and beauty,
And first in the succour of the slave!
Then here’s to the pride of the ocean!
Here’s to the pearl of the sea!
Here’s to the land of the heart and the hand
That fight for the right of the free!
Here’s to the spirit of duty,
Bearing her banners along—
Peacefully furled in the van of the world
Or waving and braving the wrong.
There’s an open-hearted fellow in the Island,
Who loves the little Island to the full;
Who cultivates the lowland and the highland
With a lover’s loving care—John Bull
His look is the welcome of a neighbour;
His hand is the offer of a friend;
His word is the liberty of labour;
His blow the beginning of the end.
Then here’s to the Lord of the Island;
Highland and lowland and lea;
And here’s to the team—be it horse, be it steam—
He drives from the sea to the sea,
Here’s to his nod for the stranger;
Here’s to his grip for a friend;
And here’s to the hand, on the sea, or the land,
Ever ready the right to defend.
There’s a troop of trusty children from the
Who’ve planted Englands up and down the sea;
Who cultivate the lowland and the highland
And fly the gallant colours of the free:
Their hearts are as loyal as their mother’s;
Their hands are as ready as their sire’s
Their bond is a union of brothers,—
Who fear not a holocaust of fires!
Then here’s to the Sons of the nation
Flying the flag of the free;
Holding the farm and the station,
Keeping the Gates of the Sea;
Handed and banded together,
In Arts, and in Arms, and in Song,
Father and son, united as one,
Bearing her Banners along,
Peacefully furled in the van of the world,
Or waving and braving the wrong!
THE RED ROSE OF WAR.
By F. Harald Williams.
God hath gone forth in solemn might to shake
The peoples of the earth,
Through the long shadow and the fires that make
New altar and new hearth!
And with the besom of red war He sweeps
The sin and woe away,
To purge with fountains from His ancient deeps
The dust of old decay.
O not in anger but in Love He speaks
From tempest round Him drawn,
Unveiling thus the fair white mountain peaks
Which tremble into dawn.