Against the German, saving all the West
By the subjection of thy shielding breast
To the brute blows and utmost shames of Fate;
Thou that in bonds of iron dost expiate
Thy nobleness as crime! Even thus oppressed,
Is not thy spirit mystically blest,
O little Belgium, marvellously great?
Thou that hast prized the soul above the flesh,
Dost thou not, starving, eat of angels’ bread?
With every sunrise crucified afresh,