Defend! Nor count what comes of it.
God’s battle bides not with the strong;
And pride must fall. Lo, it is writ!
Great England’s Gold! how stanch she fares
Fame’s wine cup pressing her proud lips—
Her checkerboard of battle squares
Rimmed round by steel-built battleships!
And yet meanwhiles ten thousand miles
She seeks ye out. Well, welcome her!
Give her such welcome with such will