Now blackened chimneys rear their grimy heads,
Smoke-belching, and the frightened birds have fled
Before the thunder of the whirring wheels.
Behind unlovely walls, amid the din,
Seven times a million noble women toil—
With tender, unaccustomed fingers toil,
Nor dream that they have played a hero's part.
Great-hearted England, we have fought the fight
Together, and our mingled blood has flowed.
Full well we know that underneath that mask