Classic Poem

O THOUSAND years of Britain's pride,
One hundred of your own,
Of throbbing fires of liberty
Bred in your blood and bone;
O stalwart 'mid the nations
To-day alone you stand,
The fate and being of a world
Within your puissant hand.

And shall the scale say bloodshed,
Or shall the word be peace?
Shall brute and blind and cruel Force
Rule, or his thunders cease?
Shall man go back a century,
And dream an alien dream,
Of clashing arms, of sabre stroke,
Of leaguered shore agleam?
Or shall the world go forward
To wisdom and surcease
Of brutal strife, to the higher life
Of brotherhood and peace?
O thousand years of Britain's pride,
One hundred of your own,
Child of the greatest mother-stock
The world hath ever known;
Who hold within your honor,
Who keep athwart your pride,
The hope or wrecking of a world;
Hold back the bloody tide!
Show men that justice, patience,
Are nobler far than hate,
You with your million valiant hearts
Entrenched by each sea-gate.
You who could hurl the eastern world
Back into either sea,
Show, greater far than iron force,
'Tis peace that rules the free,
That far from western granite gates
Old battles' smoke hath blown;
Thou thousand years of Britain's pride,
One hundred of your own.