Sons of the seagirt land,
Strong round the banner stand
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Where the Cape frowns out o'er the waters,
Staunchly she takes her stand,
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All morning rang the gardens where grew the roses sweet
With sound of drum and bugle, and tramp of marching feet;
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Granfer Scroodle,
Honest soul,
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"Who's for the breach?" they said,
At the chill dark close of a wintry day,
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They laid him down, — the soldier slain in war, —
Fresh from the midnight flame, the midnight roar,
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Grey gloom the storm-clouds in the Orient far,
Foreshadowing dark and anxious hours to be,
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Eighty men of Devon stood out to sweep the sea,
To plough the Spanish Main, my boys, to plough the Spanish Main,
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ENGLAND, our England, thou whose sway
Spreads o'er broad lands and boundless sea,
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We have heard a voice that calls us —
A voice that bids us go —
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A health to our soldiers and sailors true
That guard Britannia's throne;
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Beside the Shanghai river,
Alone with the Veldt and sky,
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O FAIR to see, scudding with gull-like motion,
Or hovering poised on shadowing wings of snow;
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It was the good ship Caroline,
That ploughed the Channel foam,
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"Beware! Beware!"
The shrilling bugles blare.
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September 9, 1898
Glory for these glad tidings, far and near,
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IN this moment of our joy and exultation
From distant lands they come,
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Beneath the golden eagle's shade
Gleam restless eyes of steely grey,
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We the vanguard of a nation in the lands of desolation,
We who live and die unknown,
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"To Arms!" the maddening bugles call;
Make ready-ready for the fray.
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O England, merry England!
The whole wide world can show
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Betwixt twin forts by nature plann'd
Slumbers the little drowsy town,
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The tides roll white and pale
On a shingly, stormy strand,
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Hushed is the midnight rush and roar, At rest the pulse that all day long
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Girded by wastes of sounding foam, Slumbers unseen the fruitful isle;
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In the high halls of morning,
Where the red dawnlights glow,
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Over hill and valley, flame, O king of morning, Before thee in thy glory the hoary vapours scud,
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Great captains of the bygone days, — Whose spirits 'mid our spirits lurk, —
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There is silence on yon fair valley,
And calm on yon purple hill:
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