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18
THE ENGLISH BOY.
Those waves in many a fight have closed
Above her faithful dead;
That red-cross flag victoriously
Hath floated o'er their bed.
They perish'd—this green turf to keep
By hostile tread unstained;
These knightly halls inviolate,
Those churches unprofaned.
And high and clear, their memory's light
Along our shore is set,
And many an answering beacon-fire
Shall there be kindled yet!
Lift up thy heart, my English Boy!
And pray, like them to stand,
Should God so summon thee, to guard
The altars of the land.
