POETRY.
TO ENGLAND IN THE NEW YEAR. O ENGLAND, there are foes within thy gates, The deadlier because we ealled them friend : For foe is he who halts and hesitates To keep the stern resolve Until the end. Who seeks to smother indignation's flame; Ignores the aim of this our sacrifice : Forgets the deeds that raised thy splendid frame; And them that built for honour not for price.
Pour we our scorn on every bleating voice Of those strange sheep that prize not England's fold : That open-eyed have made the weakling choice And shrunk when Duty bade them stand and hold.
So till the cup is drained that hate has filled, Hold fast the great resolve thy faith to keep With them who reckoned not the blood they spilled, And in their youth's strong noonday fell asleep.
Whether from palace still or busy mine, The staid assembly or the seething mob; Pour we contempt on every coward whine, And guard the jewel that these friends would rob.
What matter if we leave our sorry dust To raise some comrade mound on alien soil, If still the spirit lives to combat lust : This priceless treasure that such foes would spoil.
If lives the spirit still, then England stands : If England stands, then Freedom still is free : Yea, and the fool of England understands; Yea, and the wise man is her enemy !
Keep then the faith with every brother slain : Each mound a place of holy tryst shall be. So shall we purge old England of the stain And England still shall stand for Liberty.
L. L.
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