Oft, throughout that long ordeal Dark with horror-stricken duty, Nature on thy heart would steal Beckoning thee with heavenly beauty, Heightening ever on thine isle All her seasons’ tranquil smile; Till thy soul anew converted, Roaming o’er the fields deserted, By thy sorrow sanctified, Found a place wherein to hide. Soon fresh beauty lit thy face, Then thou stood’st in Heaven’s high grace: Sudden in air on land and sea Swell’d the voice of victory. Now when jubilant bells resound And thy sons come laurel-crown’d, After all thy years of woe Thou no longer canst forgo, Now thy tears are loos’d to flow. Land, dear land, whose sea-built shore Nurseth warriors evermore, Land, whence Freedom far and lone Round the earth her speech has thrown Like a planet’s luminous zone,-- In thy strength and calm defiance Hold mankind in love’s alliance! Beauteous art thou, but the foes Of thy beauty are not those Who lie tangled and dismay’d; Fearless one, be yet afraid Lest thyself thyself condemn In the wrong that ruin’d them. God, who chose thee and upraised ’Mong the folk (His name be praised!), Proved thee then by chastisement Worthy of His high intent, Who, because thou could’st endure, Saved thee free and purged thee pure, Won thee thus His grace to win, For thy love forgave thy sin, For thy truth forgave thy pride, Queen of seas and countries wide,-- He who led thee still will guide. Hark! thy sons, those spirits fresh Dearly housed in dazzling flesh, Thy full brightening buds of strength, Ere their day had any length Crush’d, and fallen in torment sorest, Hark! the sons whom thou deplorest Call--I hear one call; he saith: “Mother, weep not for my death: ’Twas to guard our home from hell, ’Twas to make thy joy I fell Praising God, and all is well. What if now thy heart should quail And in peace our victory fail! If low greed in guise of right Should consume thy gather’d might, And thy power mankind to save Fall and perish on our grave! On my grave, whose legend be _Fought with the brave and joyfully Died in faith of victory_. Follow on the way we won! Thou hast found, not lost thy son.” _November 23, 1918._ DER TAG: NELSON AND BEATTY A BROADSHEET. 1. No doubt ’twas a truly Christian sight When the German ships came out of the Bight, But it can’t be said it was much of a fight That grey November morning; The wonderful day, the great Der Tag, Which Prussians had vow’d with unmannerly brag Should see Old England lower her flag Some grey November morning. 2.