Classic Poem

Did he say to himself, did he say at the start:—‘I'll take this thing in hand,
And in England's name, for a dead boy's sake, I'll make them understand.

‘They have given us war, good war so far as their burgher souls knew how:
In a dead boy's name, and for England's sake, I 'll set my hand to the plow.

‘They have beaten us, trapped us, foiled and fouled, been with us like a disease,
But as yet they know but the best of the brew; they shall learn the taste of the lees?’

Did he promise thus in the thought of his dead? We must do as we must—not will!
If he did, by the Lord he has kept his word, for they've had of him thrice their fill.

By the dismal fords, the thankless hills, the desolate, half-dead flats
He has shepherded them like silly sheep, and cornered them like rats.

He has driven and headed them strength by strength, as a hunter deals with his deer,
And has filled the place of the heart in their breast with a living devil of fear.

They have seen themselves out-marched, out-fought, out-captained early and late.
They've scarce a decent town to their name but he's ridden in at the gate.

Desert and distance, treason and drought, he has mopped them up as he went,
And only those he must shed in the rush of his swoops were discontent.

Patient, hardy, masterful, merciful, high, irresistible, just,
For a dead man's sake, and in England's name, he has done as he would and must.

So three times three, and nine times nine, and a hundred times and ten,
England, you, and you junior Englands, all, hats off to our Chief of Men!