THE ELEVENTH HOUR
I
Still an hour is left to hearken: still an hour is left to wake:
Still an hour to stifle discord and join hands for England's sake.
England, generous, largely trusting, asks what course will Asquith steer?
Asks for his sake, not for her sake, for her brightening road is clear.
II
Yet a moment's space is left him. Once for all he must decide:
Flinch and cower and lapse and perish, crawl and whine and skulk and hide,
Or stand forth an English statesman, stronger when the sword-blades gleam
And the thunder-clash of conflict scares the hucksters from their dream.
III
But if craven be the answer, if we hear some timorous plea,
From stern city unto city and from furious sea to sea
Will the Empire's verdict echo, flashed along the wires of time,
Judgment endless, unexampled, on an unexampled crime:
IV
“Leave to Asquith and McKenna, and the anti-English crew
Who could twist and cant and shuffle, while the grim risk deadlier grew,
As they tumble from their benches and regain their jackals' den,
The contempt of English school-girls and the curse of English men.”
March 26, 1909.
