A love that springs from heart and brain In union gives for ripest fruit The concord Kings and States in vain Have sought, who played the lofty brute, And fondly deeming they possessed, On force relied, and found it break: That truth once scored on Britain’s breast Now keeps her mind awake. Australian, Canadian, To tone old veins with streams of youth, Our trust be on the best in man Henceforth, and we shall prove that truth. Prove to a world of brows down-bent That in the Britain thus endowed, Imperial means beneficent, And strength to service vowed. THE CRISIS SPIRIT of Russia, now has come The day when thou canst not be dumb. Around thee foams the torrent tide, Above thee its fell fountain, Pride. The senseless rock awaits thy word To crumble; shall it be unheard? Already, like a tempest-sun, That shoots the flare and shuts to dun, Thy land ’twixt flame and darkness heaves, Showing the blade wherewith Fate cleaves, If mortals in high courage fail At the one breath before the gale. Those rulers in all forms of lust, Who trod thy children down to dust On the red Sunday, know right well What word for them thy voice would spell, What quick perdition for them weave, Did they in such a voice believe. Not thine to raise the avenger’s shriek, Nor turn to them a Tolstoi cheek; Nor menace him, the waverer still, Man of much heart and little will, The criminal of his high seat, Whose plea of Guiltless judges it. For him thy voice shall bring to hand Salvation, and to thy torn land, Seen on the breakers. Now has come The day when thou canst not be dumb, Spirit of Russia:—those who bind Thy limbs and iron-cap thy mind, Take thee for quaking flesh, misdoubt That thou art of the rabble rout Which cries and flees, with whimpering lip, From reckless gun and brutal whip; But he who has at heart the deeds Of thy heroic offspring reads In them a soul; not given to shrink From peril on the abyss’s brink; With never dread of murderous power; With view beyond the crimson hour; Neither an instinct-driven might, Nor visionary erudite; A soul; that art thou. It remains For thee to stay thy children’s veins, The countertides of hate arrest, Give to thy sons a breathing breast, And Him resembling, in His sight, Say to thy land, Let there be Light. OCTOBER 21, 1905 THE hundred years have passed, and he Whose name appeased a nation’s fears, As with a hand laid over sea; To thunder through the foeman’s ears Defeat before his blast of fire; Lives in the immortality That poets dream and noblest souls desire.