REJOICE, give thanks for all the centuries, Since first our little island's crescent story, A feeble radiance woke the waning skies, To shine in full-orbed glory. Twelve centuries ago our Britain rose, Girt round by watchful foes, And did prevail at last -- such power in valour lies, Such force the brain, the arm of Freedom fires, Such lofty thought her soul inspires, Her's were the faults, the virtues of the strong, The passionate love of Right, the burning hate of Wrong, Warped sometimes by her too imperious will, To thoughts, to deeds of ill, But hearing still through all, the voice of Fate, Proclaim, "Thou shalt be great!" Mixed is the journey of a nation's life, Through frowning mountain-pass and flowery plain, Through peaceful halcyon days, rude storms of cruel strife, Brief pleasure, longer pain. But not in vain has our dear Britain been. Oh gracious Island Queen, Mother of freemen! over all the earth, Thy Empire-children come to birth, Vast continents are thine or sprung from thee, Brave island-fortress of the storm-vext sea! The giant commonwealths which sway the West, Were nourished at thy breast; The fair-grown sisters of the Austral main That hold the South in fee, Are thine, and love thy laws and speak thy tongue; The dusky millions of thy fabulous East, Dim Empires older than the dawn of Time; Thy crescent realm on Afric's peopled shore, The white man's grave no more; Ruled by just laws, and learning to grow free, Rejoice by thy Britannic Peace increased. Thy praise is by a myriad voices sung; Thou treadst alone thy onward path sublime: Thou hast not been in vain! Great Empire, those who come to-day from far, Seeking some symbol of our common love, Know through their souls Imperial pulses move, Following as did the Magi once, the Star Of this new birth of Time, this happy reign! Ne'er in our Crowned Republic's story yet, Of all that men remember or forget, This strange, this precious thing has been: No reign of threescore years of King or Queen Our annals hold -- till in this waning age, Time's finger writes it on the storied page. This is the golden link which binds in one All British hearts beneath the circling Sun, And this the Star which draws all, far and near, This aged life and dear! Ah, honoured thin-drawn life! who long hast borne From that far June, when with the earliest morn The young maid woke with tears, And innocent childish fears, The heavy burden of the Imperial Crown, Thy young, thy aged temples pressing down; Who threescore years throned in the nation's heart, Of all its joys and sorrows, barest part, Sharing thy people's humbler hopes and fears, And oft directing through a mist of tears Our difficult way, -- so fragile yet so strong! Thou seemest to our eyes Our own embodied Britain, old yet young; Not the rude Britain of her arrogant youth, But loving peace, and filled with gentle ruth, The Britain, her undying bards have sung. Our lives are bound with thine, our hopes with thee, Thy subjects all, and loyal lovers, we Come from the North, the South, the East, the West; From the acclaiming lands beyond the foam, Seeking their ancient unforgotten home, Differing in race and tongue, and creed and name -- Senators, soldiers, rulers great in fame, Thy proud Proconsuls come; Down lanes of life the slow processions stream, Barbaric gold and sunlit pennons gleam, While all the glittering palace-balconies, Are animate with bright patrician eyes -- And from our mighty mother, and the hum Of labour-teeming towns, from mine and loom, And the blurred forge's mingled glow and gloom, Throngs the unnumbered league-long crowd, Waiting with- yearning hearts and plaudits loud, To see along the fluttering flower-hung street, With trumpet - blare and measured martial feet, Down clear perspectives of the sunlit ways The jewelled pageant pass to prayer and praise, For blessings that have been, and peace, and length of days. This pomp makes History. Long years to be, When all our brave Victorian company Beyond the circuits of the stars has gone, The echoes of this memorable day, Not wholly dumb, nor fled away, Shall still go widening, widening on, Till Britain with new fires of Union glow. Not as the Roman, triumphing of yore -- The slave, the doomed, behind, the conqueror, before -- Our peaceful pageants show; Whereto each daughter-state or subject-race, Brings its own native pride and grace. For Union 'tis our severed peoples cry, For Peace each neighbour-realm, each proud ally! Princes and Peoples join alike to pay, Due reverence to a Woman's blameless sway, And bless with heart and voice this fair auspicious day. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE ROAD TO AVIGNON by AMY LOWELL COUNTRYWOMEN by KATHERINE MANSFIELD A MENDOCINO MEMORY by EDWIN MARKHAM DOMESDAY BOOK: LILLI ALM by EDGAR LEE MASTERS ON A LADY SINGING by ISAAC ROSENBERG |