TO THE POLAR EXPEDITION by VICTOR GUSTAVE PLARR

@3'But pain is not the fruit of pain.'@1

God speed you on your high emprise,
Till with its triumph earth shall ring,
And broad beneath the Polar skies
Old England's flag its cross shall fling;

And as it spreads triumphant there,
O, not alone shall it proclaim
Her sailors' valour, but declare
That light is blended with her name;

That she is foremost in the fight
For knowledge as for liberty,
That she is Bearer of the Light
As well as Mistress of the Sea—

That if she have degenerate sons
Who crave for her a smaller name,
In you the Sea-king blood yet runs
And burns the fire that made her fame.

Not yours the joy as brief as breath,
While thrilling strains of music swell,
To make one dash at glorious death,
As the Six Hundred charged at hell,

But death each hour to face for years,
'Midst Arctic solitude and night,
Whilst no applause your efforts cheers,
And Nature's self, not men, you fight.

Not all the conflicts earth has seen,
Not glistening steel nor cannon's roar,
On sea or land where'er men glean
Their laurels, called for heroes more—

The will that triumphs o'er despair,
The hand to do when Hope is dead,
The heart to suffer and to dare,
The soul by high ambition fed—

These England sends, and English hearts
And English hands before to-day
Have thrilled, have awed, the furthest parts
Of earth in peace and foughten fray.

Then O God speed you, for your ships
Hold highest hopes; be yours to dare
Through Polar ice and Hope's eclipse,
And plant the flag of England there.

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