A CHANT OF LOVE.
By CAKOLYN STICKNET POWEILS (American). Dear is my native land, and yet, I'tiongti bright mr hearth Ore', lhime, Ufea >uu shall fall c.-v I forget The laud from which we came; ihe whlte-cllffed Isle In ocean set Wnuess Kpeech auj l>aa| we claim. 1 lore tnee, England, for the life so (lowwcj With fair humanities Taj pleasant huinca that stand embowered Among their ancient trees; Their velvet s«-aid witn daisies dowered - Abodes of peaie and ease, I Where all »1,..>ul the ro»e_» glow, i Ana happy ehlldxeu .sju,,. ami Jo I in quiet, ithadrd |-alii* nflereln j It hisird no muniu.r of the loud world's din ' N'.r rustling of lv. dlgustlcs ' I What tlriues grow from these Iran-I quUllleo! I I love thee, England, for thy deep-set H OOIIA, Thy leafy minsters, 'midst wh.*e solitudes iho isoul „r our gre*i mother Nature I luokrls ; Where »uury heart and thought-erased : brain, Depruxsett by grief or overstrain. ! Find healing magic for ttieir pain Among those, b.cased sorceries. And uhruugn their gracious ministries. I love thee, Englsud, when thy siow-piced I Spring i Wiih uiaideu steps comes, coy and linger-1 tag. Whin elms, their angered fronds half-shut, b.gln To sliow rielr Pa.-adUe of green within, ( When hawthorns weave übelr canopies of | Or tiei k with rosy clouds the vales below;! When goljeu g'jcae the poor man's cohamou I Ulla; And i. lose betsde It glows the splendid ] fLi lmof yeil.'W broom, tbat gave thy kingu a ' niiuie — And lv tho copso beyond ore daffodils. Where loud the cuckoo over Held vi.d fell ltt'|seats the music of his booming ucl j; Aud t»lllght brlngat tho nightingale as weJl. 1 love Hue, England, for thy storied sshools, Where tine tradition through long custom rules; Where not from books alone is wtedom taught. And boyhood Into sterling monhosxl wrought. | Where youth discerns, from sports that ! please, the way The man the greater game of life should pi»y: Of all his world and time a part to be; ! Ills b.-nt to do, count more than victory; I Knlrly to tight, and calmly lose, nos blame The happy foe who Justly overcame That ho Uie even balance of his mlud To good or evil fortune t>Q resigned; (Ami what event to such can come amiss?) Makers of men, here learned thy heroes this. lint this we prise above all else in thee: That In th*.' strife w*hi,ih clouds our century Thou art the champion of Liberty. O! not for greed of gain or moHtery Thy bc;,t snd bravest thou didst call to thee; Nor for their land, but every land beside, Did they that fell—thy grief and yet thy pride— Affront tho foe— ÜbeTty they dlcxl— To win for man, wherever man may be. The right tiiou claiinest, to o-j nobljr free. The grass to-day on Rrmnymede Is green Where thy great Charter first upheld was And through the centurion rhat lie bet-ween Living nod growing Freedom's cause has been. Through pence and strife, by Commons and by Crown. By .Law and Faction, wsrrlor, poet, sage— Through, every Issue and through every ageThe torcih of Freedom thou hast handed down. Thou Freedom's oily, thou our kinsman, friend, Ilowe'cr the wavering comrnta veer and tend, Acrow the mine-beset, death-dealing sea. Hy Lore's own wireless electricity. Our eouls' unchanging faith to thee we send, Our hearts are with thee, England, to the end. Thou hatest hate, chou acornest scorn, thou lovi«t love. So wrote thy poet, so thy people prove. And when the awful combat shall oe done. When thou aud those that stand with thee na-vo won, tVno knows thy spirit, knows thy leaders well, The sequel can with foil airauxancc tell. No vengeance wilt chou take; no land shall be Made desolate that thoo faast victory. But the great guns, tho holts that malm and flay. The power lo plunge a universe in gloom. To "scud the dower of nations lo their doom — Theee and tfceso only wilt thou take away, And the grctSjiMlnotaur of ages slay. So Shall the constant fear, the haunting dread Of War's obsession lie for ever Inld. Not only then In stately palaces. Hut lv tlie humblest home on earth that Is, The men of every f.ilih and tongue shall say With grateful fervour, n« I do this day— (And even with deeper thanks It shall be said I!y weeping mothers who must mourn their dead. Who I" Ihy triumph see s promise sure Of pence that shall through all our time ' endurelWe love thee, love thee, England.
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Bibliographic details
Auckland Star, Volume XLVI, Issue 229, 25 September 1915, Page 18
Word Count
759A CHANT OF LOVE. Auckland Star, Volume XLVI, Issue 229, 25 September 1915, Page 18
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