THE OLD FLAG.
One voice from sea to sea,
One thought from shore to shore,—
"Peace if without disgrace still peace may be,
War, if we must have war!"
Curs'd be the hand that draweth brand,
While swords with honour can be spared:
May the hand rot, which draweth not,
When honour bids the sword be bared.
Peace now for thirty years
With Plenty, hand in hand,
One olive-crowned, one crowned with harvest ears,
Have sat within our land,
Twin-sisters dear! To keep them here,
What price would England grudge to pay?
One price alone! Were Honour gone,
How long would Peace and Plenty stay?
Bring out Old England's flag,
Storm-rent from Waterloo!
Fling forth to the four winds the glorious rag,
And bear it England through.
Through vale, o'er hill, by forge and mill,
Past upland village, coastward town,
Up Scottish strath, o'er Irish rath,
Across Welsh hill and English down.
Salute it, young and old,
With God-speed on its way!
As it ne'er waved but o'er the free and bold
Pray Heaven it never may.
Still let its course to Fraud and Force
Strike terror from the air;
Still let its sight to down-trod right
Bring hope upon despair.