 | English Roses |  |
ENGLAND'S MISSION.
God of the thunder, God of the calm,
Giveth us hammered hot on red forges
Blade of the lightning, though with a balm;
Sharpened in shadow's deep dreadful gorges—
He who is judgment, and yet is Love;
Serving us daily,
Serving us gaily
Down in the silence, down in the sadness;
King over madness,
As of the dove.
Forth from His labours, scourging the globe,
Cometh a Nero
Blood-drunk and trailing death as his robe—
Cometh the hero.
Giveth us hammered hot on red forges
Blade of the lightning, though with a balm;
Sharpened in shadow's deep dreadful gorges—
He who is judgment, and yet is Love;
Serving us daily,
Serving us gaily
Down in the silence, down in the sadness;
King over madness,
As of the dove.
Forth from His labours, scourging the globe,
Cometh a Nero
Blood-drunk and trailing death as his robe—
Cometh the hero.
God of our England, God of the true,
Fashioned us greatly fit to be Lord's men
Dealing around to subjects their due,
Bringers of progress, sailors and swordsmen—
Destined to conquer peoples and guide;
Governing nations,
Digging foundations
Firm as the rockbed hewn out of granite,
Broad as a planet—
Throned at His side.
Ours is the mission, ours is the seal
If it be gory
Sometimes and solemn, now to reveal
God and His glory.
Fashioned us greatly fit to be Lord's men
Dealing around to subjects their due,
Bringers of progress, sailors and swordsmen—
Destined to conquer peoples and guide;
Governing nations,
Digging foundations
Firm as the rockbed hewn out of granite,
Broad as a planet—
Throned at His side.
Ours is the mission, ours is the seal
If it be gory
Sometimes and solemn, now to reveal
God and His glory.
165
God who is Goodness, God who is Power
Ruleth among us mending and making
Earth, by the travail sent as our dower—
Liberties, grown from shaping and shaking;
We are but strengthless tools in His hand.
Often with blunted
Methods or stunted
Wills, in our weakness, sorely we fail Him—
Nothing avail Him,
Nor His command.
But He forgiveth errors, and still
Metes us His duties;
And, by sweet mercy, out of the ill
Worketh more beauties.
Ruleth among us mending and making
Earth, by the travail sent as our dower—
Liberties, grown from shaping and shaking;
We are but strengthless tools in His hand.
Often with blunted
Methods or stunted
Wills, in our weakness, sorely we fail Him—
Nothing avail Him,
Nor His command.
But He forgiveth errors, and still
Metes us His duties;
And, by sweet mercy, out of the ill
Worketh more beauties.
God of our England, God of the Right
Bears with our lapses, leading us forward—
Mother of empires, justice and light
Scattered as seed cast southward and nor'ward,
Into the east lands, into the west.
Parliaments slowly,
Charters and holy
Churches or statutes, rise by us bidden;
Rise from the hidden
Heaven, in God's Breast;
As we go fighting on with His Law,
Not looking manward,
But all encompassed round in its awe
First in the vanward.
Bears with our lapses, leading us forward—
Mother of empires, justice and light
Scattered as seed cast southward and nor'ward,
Into the east lands, into the west.
Parliaments slowly,
Charters and holy
Churches or statutes, rise by us bidden;
Rise from the hidden
Heaven, in God's Breast;
As we go fighting on with His Law,
Not looking manward,
But all encompassed round in its awe
First in the vanward.
| English Roses | |