1899 br br Who would trust England, let him lift his eyes br To Nelson, columned o'er Trafalgar Square, br Her hieroglyph of duty, written where br The roar of traffic hushes to the skies; br Or mark, while Paul's vast shadow softly lies br On Gordon's statued sleep, how praise and prayer br Flush through the frank young faces clustering there br To con that kindred rune of sacrifice. br O England, no bland cloud-ship in the blue, br But rough oak plunging on o'er perilous jars br Of reef and ice, our faith will follow you br The more for tempest roar that strains your spars br And splits your canvas, be your helm but true, br Your courses shapen by the eternal stars. br br br br 1900 br br The nightmare melts at last, and London wakes br To her old habit of victorious ease. br More men, and more, and more for over-seas, br More guns until the giant hammer breaks br That patriot folk whom even God forsakes.