The men that live in West England They see the Severn strong, A-rolling on rough water brown, Light aspen leaves along. They have the secret of the Rocks, And the oldest kind of song. But the men that live in the South Country Are the kindest and most wise, They get their laughter from the loud surf, And the faith in their happy eyes Comes surely from our Sister the Spring When over the sea she flies; The violets suddenly bloom at her feet, She blesses us with surprise. I never get between the pines But I smell the Sussex air; Nor I never come on a belt of sand But my home is there. And along the sky the line of Downs So noble and so bare. A lost thing could I never find, Nor a broken thing mend: And I fear I shall be all alone When I get towards the end. Who will there be to comfort me Or who will be my friend? I will gather and carefully make my friends Of the men of the Sussex Weald, They watch the stars from silent folds, They stiffly plough the field. By them and the God of the South Country My poor soul shall be healed. If I ever become a rich man, Or if ever I grow to be old, I will build a house with deep thatch To shelter me from the cold, And there shall the Sussex songs be sung And the story of Sussex told. I will hold my house in the high wood Within a walk of the sea, And the men that were boys when I was a boy Shall sit and drink with me. THE EARLY MORNING BY HILAIRE BELLOC The moon on the one hand, the dawn on the other: The moon is my sister, the dawn is my brother, The moon on my left and the dawn on my right. My brother, good morning: my sister, good night. THE PROPHET LOST IN THE HILLS AT EVENING BY HILAIRE BELLOC Strong God which made the topmost stars To circulate and keep their course, Remember me; whom all the bars Of sense and dreadful fate enforce. Above me in your heights and tall, Impassable the summits freeze, Below the haunted waters call Impassable beyond the trees. I hunger and I have no bread. My gourd is empty of the wine. Surely the footsteps of the dead Are shuffling softly close to mine! It darkens. I have lost the ford. There is a change on all things made. The rocks have evil faces, Lord, And I am awfully afraid. Remember me! the Voids of Hell Expand enormous all around. Strong friend of souls, Emmanuel, Redeem me from accursed ground. The long descent of wasted days, To these at last have led me down; Remember that I filled with praise The meaningless and doubtful ways That lead to an eternal town.