God of our fathers, known of old-- Lord of our far-flung battle line-- Beneath whose awful hand we hold Dominion over palm and pine-- Lord God of Hosts, be with us yet, Lest we forget, lest we forget! The tumult and the shouting dies-- The Captains and the Kings depart-- Still stands Thine ancient sacrifice, An humble and a contrite heart. Lord God of Hosts, be with us yet, Lest we forget, lest we forget! Far-called, our navies melt away-- On dune and headland sinks the fire-- Lo, all our pomp of yesterday Is one with Nineveh and Tyre! Judge of the Nations, spare us yet, Lest we forget, lest we forget! If, drunk with sight of power, we loose Wild tongues that have not Thee in awe-- Such boasting as the Gentiles use, Or lesser breeds without the Law-- Lord God of Hosts, be with us yet, Lest we forget, lest we forget! For heathen heart that puts her trust In reeking tube and iron shard-- All valiant dust that builds on dust, And guarding calls not Thee to guard-- For frantic boast and foolish word, Thy Mercy on Thy People, Lord! --RUDYARD KIPLING. SIR PATRICK SPENS I. _The Sailing_ The king sits in Dunfermline town Drinking the blude-red wine: "O whare will I get a skeely skipper To sail this new ship o' mine?" O up and spak an eldern knight, Sat at the king's right knee: "Sir Patrick Spens is the best sailor That ever sail'd the sea." Our king has written a braid letter, And seal'd it with his hand, And sent it to Sir Patrick Spens, Was walking on the strand. "To Noroway, to Noroway, To Noroway o'er the faem; The king's daughter o' Noroway, 'Tis thou must bring her hame." The first word that Sir Patrick read So loud, loud laugh'd he; The neist word that Sir Patrick read The tear blinded his e'e. "O wha is this has done this deed And tauld the king o' me, To send us out, at this time o' year, To sail upon the sea? "Be it wind, be it weet, be it hail, be it sleet, Our ship must sail the faem; The king's daughter o' Noroway, 'Tis we must fetch her hame." They hoysed their sails on Monenday morn Wi' a' the speed they may; They hae landed in Noroway Upon a Wodensday. II. _The Return_ "Mak ready, mak ready, my merry men a'! Our gude ship sails the morn." "Now ever alack, my master dear, I fear a deadly storm. "I saw the new moon late yestreen Wi' the auld moon in her arm; And if we gang to sea, master, I fear we'll come to harm."