 | Words by the Wayside |  |
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The Triumph Song
All hail to thee, dauntless Dover, in ages beyond our ken,
The dread of the wild sea-rover, the door of the lion's den!
New foes thou wert always facing, but never, we trust again
Shall shrink from thine arm's embracing the vessels of outland men.
The dread of the wild sea-rover, the door of the lion's den!
New foes thou wert always facing, but never, we trust again
Shall shrink from thine arm's embracing the vessels of outland men.
No longer aloof we screen us, or fend from imagined foes;
What erst was a gulf between us a watery highway flows:
Go, envious isolation, where that which begat thee goes,
For the cloud 'twixt nation and nation is lifting, no more to close.
What erst was a gulf between us a watery highway flows:
Go, envious isolation, where that which begat thee goes,
For the cloud 'twixt nation and nation is lifting, no more to close.
But what of the word
Our ears once heard
That, or ever the ages cease,
King Arthur himself should homage pay
To a mightier one of wider sway,
Whom, North, South, East, and West obey,
Lover and Lord of Peace?
O winds, be whist, O waters, dumb!
The King is coming! the King is come!
Our ears once heard
That, or ever the ages cease,
King Arthur himself should homage pay
To a mightier one of wider sway,
Whom, North, South, East, and West obey,
Lover and Lord of Peace?
O winds, be whist, O waters, dumb!
The King is coming! the King is come!
And ye that hearken the while we sing,
Look up, and behold a wondrous thing!
For these her daughters from oversea,
That follow in Dover's company,
Forty and four
The wide world o'er,
And mothers of mighty sons to be—
These from the ends of the earth who came,
Share her honour, and bear her name—
With home-felt rapture around her throng,
And thrill to the close of her triumph-song!—
Look up, and behold a wondrous thing!
For these her daughters from oversea,
That follow in Dover's company,
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The wide world o'er,
And mothers of mighty sons to be—
These from the ends of the earth who came,
Share her honour, and bear her name—
With home-felt rapture around her throng,
And thrill to the close of her triumph-song!—
O fair and majestic haven, couched under the sea-cliffs white,
That title upon thee graven, INVICTA, was thine of right,
For one with the waves thy glory, and one with the winds thy might,
And the web of thine endless story is woven, by day and night,
Of ocean's infinite yearning, criss-crossed with the to-and-fro
Of a thousand keels returning, a thousand that outward go!
From the frowning towers above thee to the fringing foam below
To think of thee is to love thee, as all that have known thee know.
That title upon thee graven, INVICTA, was thine of right,
For one with the waves thy glory, and one with the winds thy might,
And the web of thine endless story is woven, by day and night,
Of ocean's infinite yearning, criss-crossed with the to-and-fro
Of a thousand keels returning, a thousand that outward go!
From the frowning towers above thee to the fringing foam below
To think of thee is to love thee, as all that have known thee know.
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