 | The Poems of Sir William Watson |  |
THIS BRINE-BEGIRT HOME
Here, scorning easeful fame,
Oft-times did hearts of flame
Rise great and grand.
Here let such hearts as they,
Fighting their sleepless way,
Sound forth these words to-day,
God save this land.
Oft-times did hearts of flame
Rise great and grand.
Here let such hearts as they,
Fighting their sleepless way,
Sound forth these words to-day,
God save this land.
War's ghastly scowl is gone;
Peace, like a star, hath shone;
Hope dwells at hand.
Now, from returning strife—
Rage that so long was rife—
Wild woe that palsied life—
God save this land.
Peace, like a star, hath shone;
Hope dwells at hand.
Now, from returning strife—
Rage that so long was rife—
Wild woe that palsied life—
God save this land.
257
Save us from acts whereby,
'Neath yonder brooding sky,
Hate's fires are fanned.
Yea, and from words wherein
Turmoils accurst begin,
And from dark Treason's kin,
God save this land.
'Neath yonder brooding sky,
Hate's fires are fanned.
Yea, and from words wherein
Turmoils accurst begin,
And from dark Treason's kin,
God save this land.
No more, mid cold disdain,
Mind speaks to Mind in vain,
O'er gulfs unspanned.
Barriers no longer rise,
Hiding fair Truth with lies;
Sing, then, in concord wise,
God bless this land.
Mind speaks to Mind in vain,
O'er gulfs unspanned.
Barriers no longer rise,
Hiding fair Truth with lies;
Sing, then, in concord wise,
God bless this land.
God save this ancient Power,
Founded in far-off hour,
Steadfast to stand.
She that was gored and torn,
Clasps now the healing Morn.
O, through all days unborn,
God save this land.
Founded in far-off hour,
Steadfast to stand.
She that was gored and torn,
Clasps now the healing Morn.
O, through all days unborn,
God save this land.
| The Poems of Sir William Watson | |