I br br The day that is the night of days, br With cannon-fire for sun ablaze br We spy from any billow's lift; br And England still this tidal drift! br Would she to sainted forethought vow br A space before the thunders flood, br That martyr of its hour might now br Spare her the tears of blood. br br II br br Asleep upon her ancient deeds, br She hugs the vision plethora breeds, br And counts her manifold increase br Of treasure in the fruits of peace. br What curse on earth's improvident, br When the dread trumpet shatters rest, br Is wreaked, she knows, yet smiles content br As cradle rocked from breast. br br III br br She, impious to the Lord of Hosts, br The valour of her offspring boasts, br Mindless that now on land and main br His heeded prayer is active brain. br No more great heart may guard the home, br Save eyed and armed and skilled to cleave br Yon swallower wave with shroud of foam, br We see not distant heave. br br IV br br They stand to be her sacrifice, br The sons this mother flings like dice, br To face the odds and brave the Fates; br As in those days of starry dates, br When cannon cannon's counterblast br Awakened, muzzle muzzle bowled, br And high in swathe of smoke the mast br Its fighting rag outrolled.