While the whole world is filled with noise of battle,
And cries from many a devastated land,
While day by day our bravest and our dearest
Fall to the scythe in Death’s insatiate hand ;
Count it not wholly loss that peace is banished,
That in the shadow of the sword we live ;
To us the trumpet call of war has given
What comfortable peace could never give.
We have a deeper love, a surer vision,
To us, to us in majesty appears,
Yet once more with drawn sword and shield uplifted,
The ancient Mother of our hopes and fears.
O Mother England, if in easy peace time
Thy thankless sons forget thee for a while,
We shall not soon forget, who brought thee succour,
And in the hour of peril saw thee smile.
We are indeed thy children, and have loved thee,
Have known thee strong, and pitiful, and wise,
Have touched thy robe, and through the smoke of battle
Have seen the shining of thy steadfast eyes.
O gracious Mother, lest with peace returning
Our hearts forget thee and this hour of pain,
Take not thy presence ever wholly from us
Till death shall fold us to thy breast again.
(Francis Maitland)
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