The Poetical Works of George Barlow In Ten [Eleven] Volumes |
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ENGLAND'S CHOICE
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 | The Poetical Works of George Barlow |  |
195
ENGLAND'S CHOICE
Thou art in peril greater than thou deemest,
O England! What if trial-hours are o'er?
How were it if, while blind and drugged, thou dreamest,
Thy moment came,—then passed for evermore?
O England! What if trial-hours are o'er?
How were it if, while blind and drugged, thou dreamest,
Thy moment came,—then passed for evermore?
Here, 'mid our island's flowers, our songs and laughter,
Peace dwells, thou thinkest, calm-eyed in the sun.
Yet what if War sprang forth, and Hell leaped after?
If days destroyed what centuries have won?
Peace dwells, thou thinkest, calm-eyed in the sun.
Yet what if War sprang forth, and Hell leaped after?
If days destroyed what centuries have won?
Each warrior, wasted in a worthless quarrel,
Means one sword less when England's strife begins.
We fling our manhood down, defile Fame's laurel,
And deem the blindest heart the heart that wins.
Means one sword less when England's strife begins.
We fling our manhood down, defile Fame's laurel,
And deem the blindest heart the heart that wins.
196
Who shall atone for countless corpses, rotten
On those far plains that England's blood makes red?
Whose was the heart, by Justice unforgotten,
That planned the crime? What say the maimed, the dead?
On those far plains that England's blood makes red?
Whose was the heart, by Justice unforgotten,
That planned the crime? What say the maimed, the dead?
Lo! through the darkness, awful and abiding,
Strange ghosts come floating, gaunt-eyed in the gloom:
White ghosts of children, through the black night gliding,
And ghosts of mothers, pallid from the tomb.
Strange ghosts come floating, gaunt-eyed in the gloom:
White ghosts of children, through the black night gliding,
And ghosts of mothers, pallid from the tomb.
Our women, here, despairing and divided,
Know not which way to turn, what side to take.
Our statesmen palter. Truth wrings hands, derided.
Love wails in heaven, and hearts God moulded break.
Know not which way to turn, what side to take.
Our statesmen palter. Truth wrings hands, derided.
Love wails in heaven, and hearts God moulded break.
A moment yet thou hast. Behold life's portal
That love guards ever and the stars illume.
England! thou mayest choose the gate immortal.
The world's whole future turns upon thy doom.
That love guards ever and the stars illume.
England! thou mayest choose the gate immortal.
The world's whole future turns upon thy doom.
But here in England still the roses blossom,
Yea, still they watch God's gaze within the sun;
And still man's head may rest on woman's bosom
In peace, and still love's rapture may be won.
Yea, still they watch God's gaze within the sun;
And still man's head may rest on woman's bosom
In peace, and still love's rapture may be won.
197
Still in our homes the wife may sleep securely,
Her calm head pillowed on her husband's breast:
The lips of love, untinged by blood and purely,
On lips that shudder not may softly rest.
Her calm head pillowed on her husband's breast:
The lips of love, untinged by blood and purely,
On lips that shudder not may softly rest.
Bright girls, with heaven's own light within their glances,
Move through the meadows, through the tranquil towns:
Not in our streets harsh loveless War advances
With touch that soils, dismays, pollutes, discrowns.
Move through the meadows, through the tranquil towns:
Not in our streets harsh loveless War advances
With touch that soils, dismays, pollutes, discrowns.
Here friends are summoned not to watch with terror
That seeks the throne of God in anguish grim
Friends murdered; friends who fought in grief, in error,
Seeing Freedom's face in vision wild or dim.
That seeks the throne of God in anguish grim
Friends murdered; friends who fought in grief, in error,
Seeing Freedom's face in vision wild or dim.
No mother, bound, sees Death with hideous pleasure
Hugging in murderous clasp some child's gold head.
Night falls in calm on England. All we treasure
Sleeps safe. God's angels guard the marriage-bed.
Hugging in murderous clasp some child's gold head.
Night falls in calm on England. All we treasure
Sleeps safe. God's angels guard the marriage-bed.
Safe—safe—with God to watch and Love to cherish!
Who shall express the ecstasy supreme
Of knowing that here our loved ones cannot perish?
We wake not, shrieking, from some hellish dream.
Who shall express the ecstasy supreme
Of knowing that here our loved ones cannot perish?
We wake not, shrieking, from some hellish dream.
198
We see not, we, a loved home's beam and rafter
Sink, as the tossing flames win closer hold.
Here, still, we catch the ring of children's laughter:
There, children's bloodless lips grow grey and cold.
Sink, as the tossing flames win closer hold.
Here, still, we catch the ring of children's laughter:
There, children's bloodless lips grow grey and cold.
Art smiles in England. Night by night we follow
In many a gilded bright theatric fane
Art's steps. Our budding poets court Apollo
Or worship Venus in some listless strain.
In many a gilded bright theatric fane
Art's steps. Our budding poets court Apollo
Or worship Venus in some listless strain.
Yet is there work to do. While Mars, grim, tearless,
Red-browed, red-sworded, fiercely stalks along,
We need a soul of fire, a singer fearless;
We need in truth an iron-hearted song.
Red-browed, red-sworded, fiercely stalks along,
We need a soul of fire, a singer fearless;
We need in truth an iron-hearted song.
We need the soul of Hugo here, to point us
Towards courage higher than cult of swords and guns.
We need a holier chrism to anoint us
Than that which from the gaping red wound runs.
Towards courage higher than cult of swords and guns.
We need a holier chrism to anoint us
Than that which from the gaping red wound runs.
We need to know that round our island rally
Vast angel-armies who can hold their own
Against the world, though all the world should sally
Against their well-loved sea-beat island throne.
Vast angel-armies who can hold their own
Against the world, though all the world should sally
Against their well-loved sea-beat island throne.
199
Can hold their own—though countless cannon thundered,
Through our strong help, our women's pure-souled power.
England is lost, if we from heaven are sundered:
Alone, our might would wither in an hour.
Through our strong help, our women's pure-souled power.
England is lost, if we from heaven are sundered:
Alone, our might would wither in an hour.
Each English flower is linked to some flower-spirit,
Each English girl to some bright angel-form.
Through woman we the inmost heavens inherit
And take the palace of the skies by storm.
Each English girl to some bright angel-form.
Through woman we the inmost heavens inherit
And take the palace of the skies by storm.
If England's heart be pure, with clearest laughter
The far-off future she may face indeed,
Win from the present a superb hereafter;
If love be hers in practice as in creed.
The far-off future she may face indeed,
Win from the present a superb hereafter;
If love be hers in practice as in creed.
But, if the nobler heart of woman fail us,
The enclosing angel-hosts will fail as well.
They cannot stem the huge hosts that assail us,
Hosts numbering myriads trained in darkest hell;
The enclosing angel-hosts will fail as well.
They cannot stem the huge hosts that assail us,
Hosts numbering myriads trained in darkest hell;
They cannot guard our country's golden portal,
They cannot shield one English girl or flower
If we will summon not their aid immortal
And link with theirs our own incorporate power.
They cannot shield one English girl or flower
200
And link with theirs our own incorporate power.
The power of England reaches to far regions;
We may claim boldly, count on as our own,
The force of angel-hosts, the might of legions
Whose spotless armour flashes round God's throne.
We may claim boldly, count on as our own,
The force of angel-hosts, the might of legions
Whose spotless armour flashes round God's throne.
1901
| The Poetical Works of George Barlow | |