Classic Poem

I .

Ho, heirs of Saxon Alfred
And Caeur de Lion bold!
Mix'd breed of churls and belted earls
Who worshipped God of old;
Who harried East and harried West
And gather'd land and gold,
While from the lips of white-wing'd ships
Our battle-thunder rolled.!
With a hey! and a ho!
And a British three times three!
At the will of the Lord of the Cross and Sword
We swept from sea to sea!

II .

And lo, our mighty Empire
Rises like R OME of yore —
Another Rome, that feasts at home
And hugs its golden store;
Another and a mightier Rome!
That, growing more and more,
Now reaches from Saint Paul's great dome
To far Tasmania's shore!
With a hey! and a ho!
And a British three times three!
True strain and seed of the Ocean-breed,
We keep this Jubilee!

III .

Liegemen of Bess the Virgin,
Heirs of the harlot Nell!
Our once bright blood hath mix'd with mud
More oft than song need tell;
But through each hour of pride and power,
When free we fought and fell,
What gave us might to face the Fight
Was — faith in Heaven and Hell!
With a hey! and a ho!
And a British three times three!
Though the faith hath fled and our Lord lies dead,
We keep this Jubilee!

IV .

Stay! By the Soul of Milton!
By Cromwell's battle-cry!
The voice of the Lord of the Cross and Sword
Still rings beneath our sky!
Our faith lives still in the stubborn Will
No Priest or Pope could buy —
Ours is the creed of the doughty Deed,
The strength to do and die!
With a hey! and a ho!
And a British three times three!
Still sword in hand 'neath the Cross we stand
And keep this Jubilee!

V .

Lady and Queen and Mother!
Our long sea-race is run!
Let Love and Peace bless and increase
What Cross and Sword have won!
The nameless guilt, the red blood spilt,
The deeds in darkness done,
All these are past, and our souls at last
Stand shriven in the sun.
With a hey! and a ho!
And a British three times three!
We Men of the Deep sheathe swords, and keep
Thy bloodless Jubilee!

VI.

Queen of the many races
That round thy footstool cling,
Take heed lest Cain o'erthrow again
His brother's offering!
Beyond the waves crawl butchering knaves,
Now crouching for the spring,
While stolen gold stains, as of old,
The gift thy legions bring!
With a hey! and a ho!
And a British three times three!
There are robbers still who are fain to spill
Blood, on thy Jubilee!

VII.

Ghosts of sad Queens departed
Watch thee from far away:
Not theirs the bliss and calm of this
Thy peaceful triumph-day!
A faith more fearless and serene,
A creed less swift to slay,
Are thine, if thou hast found, O Queen ,
A gentler God for stay!
With a hey! and a ho!
And a British three times three!
We thy might proclaim in that one God's Name
On this thy Jubilee.