At last we know you, War-lord. You, that flung The gauntlet down, fling down the mask you wore, Publish your heart, and let its pent hate pour, You that had God for ever on your tongue. We are old in war, and if in guile we are young, Young also is the spirit that evermore Burns in our bosom ev'n as heretofore, Nor are these thews unbraced, these nerves unstrung. We do not with God's name make wanton play; We are not on such easy terms with Heaven; But in Earth's hearing we can verily say, "Our hands are pure; for peace, for peace we have striven"; And not by Earth shall he be soon forgiven Who lit the fire accurst that flames to-day. WILLIAM WATSON TO ENGLAND: TO STRIKE QUICKLY Fight, since thou must; strike quick and fierce, So when this tyrant for too long Hath shook the blood out of his ears He may have learned the price of wrong. Let him learn this, that the due grief Of his own vice he cannot ban By outrage of a highway thief; Let him remember the Corsican, Whom England only durst not dread By sea or shore, but faced alone, Nor stayed for pity of her dead Until the despot's day was done. Strike, England, quickly, make an end Of him who seeks a deal with thee. If he would bargain for thy friend, What would he trade for Liberty? MAURICE HEWLETT THE FOURTH OF AUGUST Now in thy splendour go before us, Spirit of England, ardent-eyed! Enkindle this dear earth that bore us, In the hour of peril purified. The cares we hugged drop out of vision, Our hearts with deeper thoughts dilate. We step from days of sour division Into the grandeur of our fate. For us the glorious dead have striven; They battled that we might be free. We to that living cause are given, We arm for men that are to be. Among the nations nobliest chartered, England recalls her heritage. With her is that which is not bartered, Which force can neither quell nor cage. For her immortal stars are burning, With her, the hope that's never done, The seed that's in the Spring's returning, The very flower that seeks the sun. We fight the fraud that feeds desire on Lies, in a lust to enslave or kill, The barren creed of blood and iron, Vampire of Europe's wasted will. Endure, O Earth! and thou, awaken, Purged by this dreadful winnowing-fan, O wronged, untameable, unshaken Soul of divinely suffering man! LAURENCE BINYON THE UNITED FRONT I.