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I. ENGLAND, I stand on thy imperial ground | |
| Not all a stranger; as thy bugles blow, | |
| I feel within my blood old battles flow,— | |
| The blood whose ancient founts are in thee found | |
| Still surging dark against the Christian bound | 5 |
| While Islam presses; well its peoples know | |
| Thy heights that watch them wandering below: | |
| I think how Lucknow heard their gathering sound. | |
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| I turn and meet the cruel, turbaned face. | |
| England! ’t is sweet to be so much thy son! | 10 |
| I feel the conqueror in my blood and race; | |
| Last night Trafalgar awed me, and to-day | |
| Gibraltar wakened; hark, thy evening gun | |
| Startles the desert over Africa. | |
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II. Thou art the rock of empire set mid-seas | 15 |
| Between the East and West, that God has built; | |
| Advance thy Roman borders where thou wilt, | |
| While run thy armies true with his decrees; | |
| Law, justice, liberty,—great gifts are these. | |
| Watch that they spread where English blood is spilt, | 20 |
| Lest, mixed and sullied with his country’s guilt | |
| The soldier’s life-stream flow, and Heaven displease! | |
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| Two swords there are: one naked, apt to smite, | |
| Thy blade of war; and, battle-storied, one | |
| Rejoices in the sheath, and hides from light. | 25 |
| American I am; would wars were done! | |
| Now westward, look, my country bids good night,— | |
| Peace to the world, from ports without a gun! | |
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