Like hunters chasing hart, to sea-beat cliffs, And o'er them plunged! Now comes this Faith of Christ; That Faith to which, because that Faith is true, I pledged this morn my word, my seal, my soul, The fate and fortunes of our native land And all my royal House, well knowing this, The king who loves his kingdom more than God, Better than both loves self--no king at heart. Now comes this Christian Faith! That Faith, be sure, Is not a hardening faith: gentle it makes:-- I told you, Lords, we soften day by day; I might have added that with growing years Hardness we doubly need. When Rome was great Our race, however far diffused, was one, Blended by hate of Rome. When Rome declined That bond dissolved. A second bond remained In Odin's Faith:--Northmen alone retain it In them a new Rome rises! Earls and Thanes! The truth be ours though for that truth we die! Hold fast that truth; yet hide not what it costs. Through fog and sea-mist of the days to come I see huge navies with the raven flag Steering to milder borders Christian half, Brother 'gainst brother ranging. Kingdoms Seven Of this still fair and once heroic land, I say, beware that hour! If come it must, Then fall the thunder while I walk this earth, Not when I skulk in crypts!' The others mute, From joy malicious some, some vexed with doubt, Birinus made reply: 'My Lord and King, Inly this day I gladden, certain now That neither fancy-drawn, nor anger-spurred, Nor seeking crowns, for others or thyself, Nor shunning woes, the worst that earth can know, For others or thyself, but urged by faith, God's greatest gift to man, thou mad'st this day Submission true to Christ. So be it, King! So rest content! God with a finger's touch Could melt that cloud which threats thy realm well-loved; (That threat I deem nor trivial nor obscure) Not thus He wills. Danger, distress, reverse, Are heralds sent from God, like peace and joy, To nations as to men. Happy that land Which worketh darkling; worketh without wage; And worketh still for God! If God desired A people for His sacrificial lamb, Happiest of nations should that nation be Which died His willing victim!' 'King, and Son,' With voice a moment troubled he resumed, 'Thy future rests with God! Yet shake, Oh shake One boding grief--'tis causeless--from thy breast, Deeming thy race less valiant than the North: Faithfuller they stand and nearer to their sires! Remorseless less to others and to self I grant them; that implies not valiant less: The brave are still in spirit the merciful; Far down within their being stirs a sense Of more than race or realm. Some claim world-wide, Whereof the prophet is the wailing babe,