 | Three Hundred Sonnets |  |
173
OUR WESTERN SON.
Thou noble scion of an ancient root,Born of the forest king! spread forth, spread forth,—
High to the stars thy tender leaflets shoot,
Deep dig thy fibres round the ribs of earth:
From sea to sea, from South to icy North,
It must ere long be thine, through good or ill,
To stretch thy sinewy boughs: Go,—wondrous Child!
The glories of thy destiny fulfil;—
Remember then thy Mother in her age,
Shelter her in the tempest, warring wild,
Stand thou with us when all the nations rage
So furiously together!—we are one:
And, through all time, the calm historic page
Shall tell of Britain blest in thee her Son!
| Three Hundred Sonnets | |