England and America

Mother and child! Though the dividing sea Shall roll its tide between us, we are one, Knit by immortal memories, and none But feels the throb of ancient fealty. A century has passed since at thy knee We learnt the speech of freemen, caught the fire That would not brook thy menaces, when sire And grandsire hurled injustice back to thee. But the full years have wrought equality: The past outworn, shall not the future bring A deeper union, from whose life shall spring Mankind's best hope? In the dark night of strife Men perished for their dream of Liberty Whose lives were given for this larger life.

Florence T. Holt

When the fire sinks in the grate, and night has bent Close wings about the room, and winter stands Hard-eyed before the window, when the hands Have turned the book's last page and friends are sleeping, Thought, as it were an old stringed instrument Drawn to remembered music, oft does set The lips moving in prayer, for us fresh keeping Knowledge of springtime and the violet. And, as the eyes grow dim with many years, The spirit runs more swiftly than the feet, Perceives its comfort, knows that it will meet God at the end of troubles, that the dreary Last reaches of old age lead beond tears To happy youth unending. There is peace In homeward waters, where at last the weary Shall find rebirth, and their long struggle cease. So, at this hour, when the Old World lies sick, Beyond the pain, the agony of breath Hard drawn, beyond the menaces of death, O'er graves and years leans out the eager spirit. First must the ancient die; then shall be quick New fires within us. Brother, we shall make Incredible discoveries and inherit The fruits of hope, and love shall be awake.

Charles Langbridge Morgan

A song of hate is a song of Hell; Some there be that sing it well. Let them sing it loud and long, We lift our hearts in a loftier song: We lift our hearts to Heaven above, Singing the glory of her we love, --        England! Glory of thought and glory of deed, Glory of Hampden and Runnymede; Glory of ships that sought far goals, Glory of swords and glory of souls! Glory of songs mounting as birds, Glory immortal of magical words; Glory of Milton, glory of Nelson, Tragical glory of Gordon and Scott; Glory of Shelley, glory of Sidney, Glory transcendent that perishes not, -- Hers is the story, hers be the glory,        England! Shatter her beauteious breast ye may; The spirit of England none can slay! Dash the bomb on the dome of Paul's -- Deem ye the fame of the Admiral falls? Pry the stone from he chancel floor, -- Dream ye that Shakespeare shall live no more? Where is the giant shot that kills Wordsworth walking the old green hills? Trample the red rose on the ground, -- Keats is Beauty while earth spins round! Bind her, grind her, burn her with fire, Cast her ashes into the sea, -- She shall escape, she shall aspire, She shall arise to make men free: She shall arise in a sacred scorn, Lighting the lives that are yet unborn; Spirit supernal, Splendour eternal,        England!

Helen Gray Cone

Not since Wren's Dome has whispered with man's prayer Have angels leaned to wonder out of Heaven At such uprush of intercession given, Here where to-day one soul two nations share, And with accord send up thro' trembling air Their vows to strive as Honour ne'er has striven Till back to hell the Lords of hell are driven, And Life and Peace agains shall flourish fair. This is the day of conscience high-enthroned, The day when East is West and West is East        To strike for human Love and Freedom's word Against foul wrong that cannot be atoned; To-day is hope of brotherhood's bond increased,        And Christ, not Odin, is acclaimed the Lord.

Hardwicke Drummond Rawnsley

Often I think of you, Jimmy Doane, -- You who, light-heartedly, came to my house Three autumns, to shoot and to eat a grouse! As I sat apart in this quiet room, My mind was full of the horror of war And not with the hope of a visitor. I had dined on food that had lost its taste; My soul was cold and I wished you were here, -- When, all in a moment, I knew you were near. Placing that chair where you used to sit, I looked at my book: -- Three years to-day Since you laughed in that seat and I heard you say -- "My country is with you, whatever befall: America -- Britain -- these two are akin In courage and honour; they underpin "The rights of Mankind!" Then you grasped my hand With a brotherly grip, and you made me feel Something that Time would surely reveal. You were comely and tall; you had corded arms, And sympathy's grace with your strength was blent; You were generous, clever, and confident. There was that in your hopes which uncountable lives Have perished to make; your heart was fulfilled With the breath of God than can never be stilled. A living symbol of power, you talked Of the work to do in the world to make Life beautiful: yes, and my heartstrings ache To think that you, at the stroke of War, Chose that your steadfast soul should fly With the eagles of France as their proud ally. You were America's self, dear lad -- The first swift son of your bright, free land To heed to call of the Inner Command -- To image its spirit in such rare deeds As braced the valour of France, who knows That the heart of America thrills To image its spirit in such rare deeds As braced the valour of France, who know That the heart of America thrills with her woes. For a little leaven leavens the whole! Mostly we find, when we trouble to seek The soul of a people, that some unique, Brave man is its flower and symbol, who Makes bold to utter the words that choke The throats of feebler, timider folk. You flew for the western eagle -- and fell Doing great things for your country's pride; For the beauty and peace of life you died. Britain and France have shrined in their souls Your memory; yes, and for ever you share Their love with their perished lords of the air. Invisible now, in that empty seat, You sit, who came through the clouds to me, Swift as a message from over the sea. My house is always open to you: Dear spirit, come often and you will find Welcome, where mind can foregather with mind! And may we sit together one day Quietly here, when a word is said To bring new gladness unto our dead, Knowing your dream is a dream no more; And seeing on some momentous pact Your vision upbuilt as a deathless fact.

Rowland Thirlmere

Now lamp-lit gardens in the blue dusk shine Through dogwood, red and white; And round the gray quadrangles, line by line, The windows fill with light, Where Princeton calls to Magdalen, tower to tower, Twin lanthorns of the law; And those cream-white magnolia boughs embower The halls of "Old Nassau." The dark bronze tigers crouch on either side Where redcoats used to pass; And round the bird-loved house where Mercer died, And violets dusk the grass, By Stony Brook that ran so red of old, But sings of friendship now, To feed the old enemy's harvest fifty-fold The green earth takes the plow. Through this May night, if one great ghost should stray With deep remembering eyes, Where that old meadow of battle smiles away Its blood-stained memories, If Washington should walk, where friend and foe Sleep and forget the past, Be sure his unquenched heart would leap to know Their souls are linked at last. Be sure he walks, in shadowy buff and blue, Where those dim lilacs wave. He bends his head to bless, as dreams come true, The promise of that grave; Then, with a vaster hope than thought can scan, Touching his ancient sword, Prays for that mightier realm of God in man: "Hasten thy kingdom, Lord. "Land of our hope, land of the singing stars, Type of the world to be, The vision of a world set free from wars Takes life, takes form from thee; Where all the jarring nations of this earth, Beneath the all-blessing sun, Bring the new music of mankind to birth, And make the whole world one." And those old comrades rise around him there, Old foemen, side by side, With eyes like stars upon the brave night air, And young as when they died, To hear your bells, O beautiful Princeton towers, Ring for the world's release. They see you piercing like gray swords through flowers, And smile, from souls at peace.

Alfred Noyes

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