To those great men who fought, and kept it ours. And keep it ours, O God, from brute control; O Statesmen, guard us, guard the eye, the soul Of Europe, keep our noble England whole, And save the one true seed of freedom sown Truth-teller was our England's Alfred named; Truth-lover was our English Duke; VIII. Lo, the leader in these glorious wars Now to glorious burial slowly borne, Follow'd by the brave of other lands, Betwixt a people and their ancient He, on whom from both her open throne, That sober freedom out of which there springs Our loyal passion for our temperate kings; For, saving that, ye help to save mankind Till public wrong be crumbled into dust, And drill the raw world for the march of mind, Till crowds at length be sane and crowns be just. But wink no more in slothful overtrust. Remember him who led your hosts; He bade you guard the sacred coasts. Your cannons moulder on the seaward wall; His voice is silent in your council-hall For ever; and whatever tempests lour For ever silent; even if they broke In thunder, silent; yet remember all He spoke among you, and the Man who spoke; Who never sold the truth to serve the hour, Nor palter'd with Eternal God for The path of duty be the way to glory: For many and many an age proclaim Their ever-loyal iron leader's fame, Eternal honor to his name. IX. Feace, his triumph will be sung Round us, each with different powers, trust. Hush, the Dead March wails in the people's ears: The dark crowd moves, and there are sobs and tears: The black earth yawns: the mortal Ashes to ashes, dust to dust; Far on in summers that we shall not Being here, and we believe him see: Peace, it is a day of pain For one about whose patriarchal knee Once the weight and fate of Europe Ours the pain, be his the gain! As befits a solemn fane: Uplifted high in heart and hope are we, Until we doubt not that for one so true There must be other nobler work to Than when he fought at Waterloo, For tho' the Giant Ages heave the And break the shore, and evermore Into the jaws of Death, Into the mouth of Hell Rode the six hundred. IV. Flash'd all their sabres bare, All the world wonder'd: Shatter'd and sunder'd. Then they rode back, but not, Not the six hundred. V. Cannon to right of them, Volley'd and thunder'd; VI. When can their glory fade? All the world wonder'd. Honor the charge they made! Honor the Light Brigade, Noble six hundred ! ODE SUNG AT THE OPENING INTERNATIONAL 1. UPLIFT a thousand voices full and sweet, In this wide hall with earth's invention stored, And praise the invisible universal Lord, thine, And, lo! the long laborious miles Steel and gold, and corn and wine, Of wonder, out of West and East, Brought from under every star, Warble, O bugle, and trumpet, blare! Flags, flutter out upon turrets and towers! Flames, on the windy headland flare! Utter your jubilee, steeple and spire! Clash, ye bells, in the merry March air! Flash, ye cities, in rivers of fire! Melt into stars for the land's desire! Roar as the sea when he welcomes the land, And welcome her, welcome the land's desire, |