A Treasury of South African Poetry and Verse/Anonymous (1)
THE BRITON'S HOMELAND.
(A COLONIST'S IMPERIAL SONG.)
Sons of Britannia! scattered wide,
Wherever rolls blue ocean's tide;
Sons of the men who proudly bore
Fair Freedom's flag to each far shore;
Ye, who yet round the homeland clinging,
Hear History's echoes grandly ringing;
Ye, who on many a distant coast,
Your British name still fondly boast—
Say, shall your ancient country be
Shorn of her rank by land or sea?
A thousand years have known her name!
A thousand fights attest her fame!
Around her island throne there runs
The blood of myriads of her sons!
The light of Freedom gilds her story,
The Patriot's service seals her glory!
Fierce is the loyal flame that fires
The worthy sons of worthy sires!
Nay, never shall our country be
Shorn of her rank by land or sea.
Let but the foeman speak the word,
Let war's wild shriek but once be heard;
Forth from the sheath the sword shall spring,
From land to land the cry shall ring!
Peace shall her spell impose no longer,
Honour than gain shall prove the stronger.
Fealty and faith, our strength of yore,
Shall fearless face a world once more;
Nor ever shall our country be
Shorn of her rank by land or sea.
Hark! through old England's world-wide bounds,
The shout of love and succour sounds:
From vast Acadia's woodland vales,
From far Australia's golden dales,
From India's many-peopled lands,
From Southern Afric's struggling bands;
Wherever English foot hath trod,
Or English knee bends low to God,
They say that ne'er our land shall be
Shorn of her rank by land or sea.
O England! home of homes, we swear,
While we the claims of sonship share,
Whilst thou to us art staunch and true,
Shall we to thee give royal due.
For thee with earth's rude powers contending,
Our hearts and arms their strength are spending.
Thy tongue we speak, thy laws we spread,
Through savage realms thy rights we shed;
Nor e'er shall thou, our country, be
Shorn of thy rank by land or sea.
O'erweening foes may band their might—
Our steadfast Isle stands firm to fight!
Her homes no victor-hosts despoil,
No hostile foot e'er shames her soil.
Deep are the constant seas that lave her,
Close bound the British hearts that save her.
One arm! one hope! one thought! one soul!
Sworn fast to keep her Empire whole!
Nay, never shall old England be
Shorn of her rank by land or sea!