Thus only should it come, if come it must; Not with a riot of flags or a mob-born cry, But with a noble faith, a conscience high And pure and proud as heaven, wherein we trust, We who have fought for peace, have dared the thrust Of calumny for peace, and watched her die, Her scutcheons rent from sky to outraged sky By felon hands, and trampled into the dust. We fought for peace, and we have seen the law Cancelled, not once, nor twice, by felon hands, But shattered, again, again, and yet again. We fought for peace. Now, in God's name, we draw The sword, not with a riot of flags and bands, But silence, and a mustering of men. II. They challenge Truth. An Empire makes reply. One faith, one flag, one honour, and one might. From sea to sea, from height to war-worn height, The old word rings out--to conquer, or to die. And we shall conquer. Though their eagles fly Through heaven, around this ancient isle unite Powers that were never vanquished in the fight, The unconquerable Powers that cannot lie. But they who challenge Truth, Law, Justice, all The bases on which God and man stand sure Throughout all ages, fools!--they thought us torn So far with discord that the blow might fall Unanswered; and, while all those Powers endure, This is our answer: Unity and Scorn. III. We trust not in the multitude of an host. Nations that greatly builded, greatly stand. In those dark hours, the Splendour of a Hand Has moved behind the darkness, till that coast Where hate and faction seemed to triumph most Reveals itself--a buckler and a brand, Our rough-hewn work, shining o'er sea and land, But shaped to nobler ends than man could boast. It is God's answer. Though, for many a year, This land forgot the faith that made her great, Now, as her fleets cast off the North Sea foam, Casting aside all faction and all fear, Thrice-armed in all the majesty of her fate, Britain remembers, and her sword strikes home. ALFRED NOYES ENGLAND TO THE SEA Hearken, O Mother, hearken to thy daughter! Fain would I tell thee what men tell to me, Saying that henceforth no more on any water Shall I be first or great or loved or free, But that these others--so the tale is spoken-- Who have not known thee all these centuries By fire and sword shall yet turn England broken Back from thy breast and beaten from thy seas, Me--whom thou barest where thy waves should guard me, Me--whom thou suckled'st on thy milk of foam, Me--whom thy kisses shaped what while they marred me, To whom thy storms are sweet and ring of home.