Patient band of refugees,
Look not back across the seas;
Not yet — the day is still to come,
When in triumph to your home
You shall return again: not yet
Has England paid her mighty debt.

You, first victims of the war,
First to hear the cannon's roar,
First to hear the bursting shell.
Ah! you know those sounds too well.
Comrades falling all around,
Dead and dying on the ground,
Eyes must weep and hearts must break,
And men must die for honour's sake.
Vanish'd now the German race,
Hell's own demons fill the place;
They know not honour, faith, nor truth,
They stay and torture without ruth;
Women, children, flee for life,
Battling in unequal strife.
Infirm and aged, ill and blind;
Oh! what refuge can they find,
Where to shelter, where to turn?
Go back! alas! the homesteads burn.
Weeping and imploring eyes,
Gaze piteously at starless skies,
No hope above, no help below,
Nothing is — but deadly woe.
Misery is everywhere,
And minds grow vacant with despair.
A tiny child is wandering on,
Its parents kill'd, friends lost or gone,
Heaven! listen to its cry,
God! in pity let it die.
It stumbles on the blood-drench'd sod,
Is there a heaven? Is there a God?
No father's love, no mother's kiss,
Was it born to end like this?

And he, the greatest of you all,
Must he see his cities fall?
Must he stay and see his land
Ruined by a robber-band?
Oh! when have kings from danger fled,
Or blue blood scorn'd to mix with red?
And truest king art thou!
Not in place of safety then?
No — in the trenches with thy men,
Far from throne and regal state,
Ne'er so king-like, ne'er so great,
Ne'er so royal as now.
Of what can sovereign be bereft
Who has a nation's worship left?
Thy people's tear-drops falling down,
Shall shine as diamonds in thy crown.
Cities, phaenix-like shall rise.
Church spires point towards peaceful skies,
Black eagles lying all around,
Dead and conquer'd on the ground.

Poor martyr'd Belgium, not in vain
Your misery and bitter pain.
Every shriek of mad despair,
Every agonizing prayer,
Every word of comfort spoken,
When hearts were desolate and broken,
Each unselfish thought inspired,
Each gun loaded, each gun fired,
Each heroic deed display'd,
Every order well obey'd,
Every demon backward hurl'd,
Has helped to shield the world.
Struggling stream of fugitives.
Belgium dies but England lives,
Lives to 'venge your cruel wrong,
England's arms are firm and strong,
England holds you to her heart,
You, who nobly play'd your part
And countless perils braved;
England will your rights defend,
And you shall triumph in the end,
England ne'er forsakes a friend —
The England you have saved.