A thousand years of power,
A thousand marches done,
Lands beyond lands our dower,
Flag with no setting sun—
Now to the new King's sealing,
Come from the farthest seas,
Sons of the croft and sheiling,
Sons of the moor and leas—
Those that went from us, daring
The wastes and the wilds and the wood:
Hither they come to us, sharing
Our glory, the call of the blood;
Hither they come to the sealing—
They or the seed of them come,
Bring the new King the revealing
Of continents yesterday dumb.
Out on the veldt, in the pineland,
Camped by the spring or the hill,
Pressing the grapes of the vineland,
Grinding the wheat at the mill,
Oracles whispered the message
Meant for the ear of the King—
Joyous and splendid the presage,
Lofty the vision they bring!
Each for his new land—he made it;
Each for the Old Land which gave
Treasure, that none should invade it,
Blood its high altars to lave;
Each for the brotherhood nations,
All of the nations for each:
Here giving thanks and oblations,
One in our blood and our speech,
Pledging our love and alliance,
Faith upon faith for the King,
Making no oath in defiance,
Crying, "No challenge we fling,"
Yet for the peace of all people,
Yet for the good of our own,
Here, with our prayers and oblations,
Pledge we our lives to the throne!
CLOSE UP
You heard the bugles calling, comrades, brothers,—
"Close up! Close up!" You mounted to go forth,
You answered "We are coming," and you gathered,
And paraded with your Captains in the North.
From here you came, from there you came, your voices
All flashing with your joy as flash the stars,
You waited, watched, until, the last one riding
Out of the night, came roll-call after wars.
Unsling your swords, off with your knapsacks, brothers!
We'll mess here at headquarters once again;
Drink and forget the scars; drink and remember
The joy of fighting and the pride of pain.
We will forget: the great game rustles by us,
The furtive world may whistle at the door,
We'll not go forth; we'll furlough here together—
Close up! Close up! 'Tis comrades evermore!