The English Boy

Look from the ancient mountains down,
My noble English boy!
Thy country’s fields around thee gleam
In sunlight and in joy.

Ages have roll’d since foeman’s march
Pass’d o’er that old, firm sod;
For well the land hath fealty held
To freedom and to God!

Gaze proudly on, my English boy!
And let thy kindling mind
Drink in the spirit of high thought
From every chainless wind!

There, in the shadow of old Time,
The halls beneath thee lie
Which pour’d forth to the fields of yore
Our England’s chivalry.

How bravely and how solemnly
They stand, midst oak and yew!
Whence Cressy’s yeomen haply framed
The bow, in battle true.

And round their walls the good swords hang
Whose faith knew no alloy,
And shields of knighthood, pure from stain:
Gaze on, my English boy!

Gaze where the hamlet’s ivied church
Gleams by the antique elm,
Or where the minster lifts the cross
High through the air’s blue realm.

Martyrs have shower’d their free heart’s blood
That England’s prayer might rise,
From those gray fanes of thoughtful years,
Unfetter’d, to the skies.

Along their aisles, beneath their trees,
This earth’s most glorious dust,
Once fired with valour, wisdom, song,
Is laid in holy trust.

Gaze on--gaze farther, farther yet--
My gallant English boy!
Yon blue sea bears thy country’s flag,
The billows’ pride and joy!

Those waves in many a fight have closed
Above her faithful dead;
That red-cross flag victoriously
Hath floated o’er their bed.

They perish’d--this green turf to keep
By hostile tread unstain’d,
These knightly halls inviolate,
Those churches unprofaned.

And high and clear their memory’s light
Along our shore is set,
And many an answering beacon-fire
Shall there be kindled yet!

Lift up thy heart, my English boy!
And pray, like them to stand,
Should God so summon thee, to guard
The altars of the land.