 | English Roses |  |
WHAT MAKES ENGLAND?
What makes England, marching greatly through all history to be,
Terrible and strong and stately in her progress bright and free?
Tell me, pages of the ages, where upon heroic stages
Beautiful in sun or mists,
Stand in glory and the story grandly chronicled and gory
Deathless our protagonists;
What makes England first of nations crowned by universal will,
Leading on the generations to horizons fairer still?
Terrible and strong and stately in her progress bright and free?
Tell me, pages of the ages, where upon heroic stages
Beautiful in sun or mists,
Stand in glory and the story grandly chronicled and gory
Deathless our protagonists;
What makes England first of nations crowned by universal will,
Leading on the generations to horizons fairer still?
Not her bars or breasts of iron, wooden wall or fence of steel,
Bulwarks which unmoved environ her when lesser kingdoms reel;
Not the bearing and the daring of her energy unsparing
Sped across new seas and lands,
Onward leaping, ever heaping harvests for the gallant reaping
Of her bold imperial hands;
Not her redcoats or the seamen shaped and shaken by the storm
And the battle, into freemen of the true heroic form.
Bulwarks which unmoved environ her when lesser kingdoms reel;
Not the bearing and the daring of her energy unsparing
Sped across new seas and lands,
Onward leaping, ever heaping harvests for the gallant reaping
Of her bold imperial hands;
Not her redcoats or the seamen shaped and shaken by the storm
And the battle, into freemen of the true heroic form.
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Not the commerce and the Argos blown by every wave and wind,
With her pioneers and cargoes from the Occident to Ind;
Not the coffers cheap to scoffers till they want the wealth she offers
To the countries in their need,
Goods and treasure without measure bringing with them peace and pleasure
And their civilising seed;
Not her merchandise and trading sons, who put a golden girth
Round all peoples, yet invading every market of the earth.
With her pioneers and cargoes from the Occident to Ind;
Not the coffers cheap to scoffers till they want the wealth she offers
To the countries in their need,
Goods and treasure without measure bringing with them peace and pleasure
And their civilising seed;
Not her merchandise and trading sons, who put a golden girth
Round all peoples, yet invading every market of the earth.
Not her justice like a banner sheltering the high or low
Not her calm and equal manner proved alike by friend and foe;
Not the sweetness and the meetness of her infinite completeness
For the reason or the right,
And the honour laid upon her by the Great who died to don her
Majesty and royal right;
Not her credit like a jewel beautiful and vast and fair,
Shining brightest in the cruel habitations of despair.
Not her calm and equal manner proved alike by friend and foe;
Not the sweetness and the meetness of her infinite completeness
For the reason or the right,
And the honour laid upon her by the Great who died to don her
Majesty and royal right;
Not her credit like a jewel beautiful and vast and fair,
Shining brightest in the cruel habitations of despair.
Not her liberties and charters won on many a field and flood
By her heroes and the martyrs sealing them with sacred blood;
Not the broader breath of order curbing still the wild marauder
In the rugged Afghan pass,
And that vision of decision with the sword that in derision
Holds the fiercest creed or class;
Not the freedom in the faces of her champions, as they press
On their outposts into spaces still an unmapped wilderness.
By her heroes and the martyrs sealing them with sacred blood;
Not the broader breath of order curbing still the wild marauder
In the rugged Afghan pass,
And that vision of decision with the sword that in derision
Holds the fiercest creed or class;
Not the freedom in the faces of her champions, as they press
On their outposts into spaces still an unmapped wilderness.
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What makes England proud and peerless, buttressed by eternal rocks,
Resolute and first and fearless, still against a world of shocks?
'Tis the surer step and purer love that builds up life securer
Of the women whom she bears,
Wives and mothers more than others whom the curse of custom smothers
With the chains no Briton wears;—
These her safeguards and her splendour, with a faith a fortress dome
Under God the one Defender, ramparting her island home.
Resolute and first and fearless, still against a world of shocks?
'Tis the surer step and purer love that builds up life securer
Of the women whom she bears,
Wives and mothers more than others whom the curse of custom smothers
With the chains no Briton wears;—
These her safeguards and her splendour, with a faith a fortress dome
Under God the one Defender, ramparting her island home.
| English Roses | |