Victory
Old Flag, that floatest fair and proud
Where'er our swift fleets fly,
Do they who shriek thy praise aloud
Honour thee more than I, —
Who yield to none beneath the sun
In love for thine and thee,
Altho' I raise no song of praise
Or hymn of victory?
Not love thee, dear old Flag? not bless
This England, sea and shore?
O England, if I loved thee less
My song might praise thee more, —
I'd have thee strong to right the wrong
And wise as thou art free;
For thee I'd claim a stainless fame,
A bloodless victory!
Conquer'd thou hast! from west to east,
Thy fleets float on in pride, —
Thy glory, England, hath not ceased
Since Nelson bled and died;
Peace to the brave, who to thee gave
This Empire of the Sea, —
Yet would thy son from God had won
A mightier victory!
The trumpets of thy rule are blown
Where'er thy hosts go by;
Blent with their sound I hear the moan
Of martyr'd men who die;
Crush'd 'neath their tread lie quick and dead,
And far away I see
The white Christ rise with weeping eyes
To mourn thy victory!
Nay, is it victory at all
The blood-red wreath to gain?
The hosts who curse thee as they fall
But prove thy glory vain;
Thy legions strong still march along
And reap the world for thee,
But nobler is the Sower's song
Than their best victory!
Not through thy legions arm'd to slay
Hast thou survived and reigned, —
Through men who threw the sword away
Thy glory hath been gained;
Strong, stubborn-kneed, they stood and freed
The slave from sea to sea,
And Wilberforce's bloodless deed
Was England's victory!
The men whose hands have raised thy throne,
And guard it evermore,
Are such as lit the Eddystone
And built the Skerryvore!
By blood unstain'd their hands maintain'd
This Empire of the Sea, —
The white wreath won by Stephenson
Crown'd Nelson's victory!
To such as these, O Motherland,
Let thy red hosts give room —
To those who wrought with patient hand
The engine and the loom;
Thy gifts increase through acts of Peace,
Not deeds men weep to see,
And Shakespeare's page from age to age
Is thy best victory!
Not love the dear old Flag? not bless
Our England, sea and shore?
O England, those who love thee less
May stoop to praise thee more.
To keep thy fame from taint of shame
I pray on bended knee,
But where the braggart mouths thy name
I hail no victory!
Thy place is yonder on the Deep
That blows thy fleets abroad,
Thy strength is in the men who keep
Their bloodless pact with God;
They love thee best who will not rest
Until, from sea to sea,
Justice and Love, by all men blest,
Complete thy victory!
Where'er our swift fleets fly,
Do they who shriek thy praise aloud
Honour thee more than I, —
Who yield to none beneath the sun
In love for thine and thee,
Altho' I raise no song of praise
Or hymn of victory?
Not love thee, dear old Flag? not bless
This England, sea and shore?
O England, if I loved thee less
My song might praise thee more, —
I'd have thee strong to right the wrong
And wise as thou art free;
For thee I'd claim a stainless fame,
A bloodless victory!
Conquer'd thou hast! from west to east,
Thy fleets float on in pride, —
Thy glory, England, hath not ceased
Since Nelson bled and died;
Peace to the brave, who to thee gave
This Empire of the Sea, —
Yet would thy son from God had won
A mightier victory!
The trumpets of thy rule are blown
Where'er thy hosts go by;
Blent with their sound I hear the moan
Of martyr'd men who die;
Crush'd 'neath their tread lie quick and dead,
And far away I see
The white Christ rise with weeping eyes
To mourn thy victory!
Nay, is it victory at all
The blood-red wreath to gain?
The hosts who curse thee as they fall
But prove thy glory vain;
Thy legions strong still march along
And reap the world for thee,
But nobler is the Sower's song
Than their best victory!
Not through thy legions arm'd to slay
Hast thou survived and reigned, —
Through men who threw the sword away
Thy glory hath been gained;
Strong, stubborn-kneed, they stood and freed
The slave from sea to sea,
And Wilberforce's bloodless deed
Was England's victory!
The men whose hands have raised thy throne,
And guard it evermore,
Are such as lit the Eddystone
And built the Skerryvore!
By blood unstain'd their hands maintain'd
This Empire of the Sea, —
The white wreath won by Stephenson
Crown'd Nelson's victory!
To such as these, O Motherland,
Let thy red hosts give room —
To those who wrought with patient hand
The engine and the loom;
Thy gifts increase through acts of Peace,
Not deeds men weep to see,
And Shakespeare's page from age to age
Is thy best victory!
Not love the dear old Flag? not bless
Our England, sea and shore?
O England, those who love thee less
May stoop to praise thee more.
To keep thy fame from taint of shame
I pray on bended knee,
But where the braggart mouths thy name
I hail no victory!
Thy place is yonder on the Deep
That blows thy fleets abroad,
Thy strength is in the men who keep
Their bloodless pact with God;
They love thee best who will not rest
Until, from sea to sea,
Justice and Love, by all men blest,
Complete thy victory!
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