The Lord of Misrule, and Other Poems Part 17

Hold to that law whereby the warring tribes Were merged in nations, hold to that wide law Which bids you merge the nations, here and now, Into one people. Hold to that deep law Whereby we reach the peace which is not death But the triumphant harmony of Life, Eternal Life, immortal Love, the Peace Of worlds that sing around the throne of G.o.d.

THRICE-ARMED

Thus only should it come, if come it must-- Not with a riot of flags and a mob-born cry, But with a n.o.ble faith, a conscience high That, if we fail, we failed not in our trust.

We fought for peace. We dared the bitter thrust Of calumny for peace, and watched her die, Her scutcheons rent from sky to outraged sky By felon hands and trampled into the dust.

We proffered justice, and we saw the law Cancelled by stroke on stroke of those deft hands Which still retain the imperial forger's pen.

They must have blood--Then, at this last, we draw The sword, not with a riot of flags and bands, But silence, and a mustering of men.

They challenge Truth. A people makes reply, East, West, North, South, one honour and one might, From sea to sea, from height to war-worn height, The old word rings out--to conquer or to die.

And we shall conquer! Though their eagles fly Through heaven, around this ancient isle unite Powers that were never vanquished in the fight, The unconquerable Powers that cannot lie.

Though fire destroy her flesh, and many a year This land forgot the faith that made her great, Now, as her fleets cast off the North Sea foam, Casting aside all faction and all fear, Thrice-armed in all the majesty of her fate, Britain remembers, and her sword strikes home.

THE SONG-TREE

Grow, my song, like a tree, As thou hast ever grown, Since first, a wondering child, Long since, I cherished thee.

It was at break of day, Well I remember it,-- The first note that I heard, A magical undertone, Sweeter than any bird --Or so it seemed to me-- And my tears ran wild.

This tale, this tale is true.

The light was growing gray; And the rhymes ran so sweet (For I was only a child) That I knelt down to pray.

Grow, my song, like a tree.

Since then I have forgot A thousand friends, but not The song that set me free, So that to thee I gave My hopes and my despairs, My boyhood's ecstasy, My manhood's prayers.

In dreams I have watched thee grow, A ladder of sweet boughs, Where angels come and go, And birds keep house.

In dreams, I have seen thee wave Over a distant land, And watched thy roots expand, And given my life to thee, As I would give my grave.

Grow, my song, like a tree, And when I am grown old, Let me die under thee, Die to enrich thy mould; Die at thy roots, and so Help thee to grow.

Make of this body and blood Thy sempiternal food.

Then let some little child, Some friend I shall not see, When the great dawn is gray, Some lover I have not known, In summers far away, Sit listening under thee.

And in thy rustling hear That mystical undertone, Which made my tears run wild, And made thee, O, how dear.

In the great years to be?

I am proud then? Ah, not so.

I have lived and died for thee.

Be patient Grow.

Grow, my song, like a tree.