Hasten the Kingdom, England, the days darken;
We would not have thee slacken watch or ward,
Nor doff thine armour till the whole world hearken,
Nor till Time bid thee lay aside the sword.
Hasten the Kingdom; hamlet, heath, and city,
We are all at war, one bleeding bulk of pain;
Little we know; but one thing—by God's pity—
We know, and know all else on earth is vain.
We know not yet how much we dare, how little;
We dare not dream of peace; yet, as at need,
England, God help thee, let no jot or tittle
Of Love's last law go past thee without heed.
Who saves his life shall lose it! The great ages
Bear witness—Rome and Babylon and Tyre
Cry from the dust-stopped lips of all their sages,—
There is no hope if man can climb no higher.
England, by God's grace set apart to ponder
A little while from battle, ah, take heed,
Keep watch, keep watch, beside thy sleeping thunder;
Call down Christ's pity while those others bleed;
Waken the God within thee, while the sorrow
Of battle surges round a distant shore,
While Time is thine, lest on some deadly morrow
The moving finger write—but thine no more.
Little we know—but though the advancing æons
Win every painful step by blood and fire,
Though tortured mouths must chant the world's great pæans,
And martyred souls proclaim the world's desire;
Though war be nature's engine of rejection,
Soon, soon, across her universal verge
The soul of man in sacred insurrection
Shall into God's diviner light emerge.
Hasten the Kingdom, England, queen and mother;
Little we know of all Time's works and ways;
Yet this, this, this is sure: we need none other
Knowledge or wisdom, hope or aim or praise,
But to keep this one stormy banner flying
In this one faith that none shall e'er disprove,
Then drive the embattled world before thee, crying,
There is one Emperor, whose name is Love.