O for the fiery grace of old,—
The heart and the masterful hand!
But grace grows dim and the fire grows cold,
We are heavy with greed and lust and gold,
And life creeps low in the land.
Break your bonds, Britain!
Stand up once again for the right!
We have stained our hands in the times that are past,
Before God, we would wash them white.
For the Nations are in the proving;
Each day is Judgment Day;
And the peoples He finds wanting
Shall pass—by the winding way.
HEARTS IN EXILE
O Exiled Hearts—for you, for you— Love still can find the way! Hear the voices of the women on the road! O Shadowed Lives—for you, for you— Hope hath not lost her ray! Hear the laughter of the children on the road! O Gloomy Night—for you, for you— Dawn tells of coming day! Hear the clink of breaking fetters on the road! O Might sans Right—for you, for you— The feet of crumbling clay! Hear the slow, sure tread of Freedom on the road!
WANDERED
The wind blows shrill along the hill,
—Black is the night and cold—
The sky hangs low with its weight of snow,
And the drifts are deep on the wold.
But what care I for wind or snow?
And what care I for the cold?
Oh … where is my lamb—
My one ewe lamb—
That strayed from the fold?
The beasts are safely gathered in,
—Black is the night and cold—
They are snug and warm, and safe from harm,
In stall and byre and fold.
And the dogs and I, by the blazing fire,
Care nought for the snow and the cold.
Oh … where is my lamb—
My one ewe lamb—
That strayed from the fold?
The barns are bursting with their store
Of grain like yellow gold;
A full, fat year has brought good cheer,
—Black is the night and cold.—
But … What care I for teeming barns?
And what care I for gold?
Oh … where is my lamb—
My one ewe lamb—
That strayed from the fold?
In the great kitchen, maids and men,
—Black is the night and cold—
Laugh loud and long, with jest and song,
And merry revel hold.
Let them laugh and sing, let them have their fling,
But for me—I am growing old.
Oh … where is my lamb—
My one ewe lamb—
That strayed from the fold?