The Englishman and Other Poems | Page 2

of your son.
Little
cares he for the glories of earth
Lying around and above him,

Yearning is he for the rights of his birth,
And the heart of his mother
to love him.
Vast are your gifts to him, ample his store,
Now open

your door.
England, father and mother in one,
Heed the voice of your son.

Proffer him place in your councils of state:
Let him sit near, and
attend you.
Ponder his words in the hour of debate,
Strong is his
arm to defend you.
Flesh of your flesh, and bone of your bone,
Give
him his own.
THE CALL
In the banquet hall of Progress
God has bidden to a feast
All the
women in the East.
Some have said 'We are not ready, -
We must wait another day.'
Some, with voices clear and steady,
'Lord, we hear, and we obey.'
Others, timid and uncertain,
Step forth trembling in the light,
Many hide behind the curtain
With their faces hid from sight.
In the banquet hall of Progress
All must gather soon or late,
And
the patient Host will wait.
If to-day, or if to-morrow,
If in gladness, or in woe,
If with pleasure, or with sorrow,
All must answer, all must go.
They must go with unveiled faces,
Clothed in virtue and in pride.
For the Host has set their places,
And He will not he denied.

CORONATION POEM AND PRAYER
The world has crowned a thousand kings:
But destiny has kept
Her weightiest hour of kingly power
To offer England's son.
The rising bell of Progress rings;
And Truths which long have slept,
Like prophets strange, predicting
change,
Before Time's chariot run.
The greatest Empire of the Earth.
Old England proudly stands.
Like arteries her Colonies
Reach out from sea to sea.
She clasps all races in her girth;
Her gaze the world commands;
And far and wide where strong ships
ride,
The British Flag floats free.
Oh, never since the stars began
Their round of Cosmic law,
And souls evolved in ways unsolved,
And kingdoms reached their prime
Has Destiny held out to Man
A gift so full of awe,
As England's crown which she hands down
In this stupendous time.
This is a crucial hour, when Fate
Tries Monarchs as by fire.
All rulers must be more than just -

Men starve on bread alone.
Old England's sense of RIGHT is great:
But now let her aspire
To feel more love, and build thereof
An everlasting Throne.
The dreaming East, awake at last,
Is asking 'when' and 'why';
Wait not too long nor answer wrong,
Nor in too stern a voice.
Let England profit by her past,
And with her wise reply
Rouse hearts, within her foster kin
To hope, and to rejoice.
True wealth dwells not in things we own,
But in our USE of things.
Who would command a conquered land
Must conquer first its heart.
Such might as Man has never known,
And power undreamed by kings,
And boundless strength would come
at length
To one who used that art.
For now has dawned the People's day:
A day of great unrest.
Nor king nor creed can still man's need
Of time and space to grow.
All lands must shape a wider way,
For this eternal quest;
And Leisure yield a larger field
Where work-worn feet may go.
The Universe is all a-thrill

With changes imminent.
The World in faith, with bated breath,
Holds free the Leader's place.
And wise is he whose heart and will
At one with Time's intent,
Shall open wide doors long denied
To MOTHERS of the race.
On this round globe, oh, when and where
Were fitter time and scene
For Woman's soul to reach its goal
Than NOW in England's realm.
Was not the crown its King will wear
Made glorious by its Queen?
And who steered straight its ship of
State?
VICTORIA AT THE HELM!
Kings have been kings by accident,
By favour and by force,
But right of birth and moral worth,
And Empires rich and broad
For England's King to-day are blent
Like rivers on one course.
But, ah! the light falls searching white
Down from the Throne of God.
Lord of the Earth and heavenly-spheres,
Creator of all things,
Thou who hast wrought great worlds from
naught,
Give strength to England's son.
Give courage to dispel those fears
That come to even kings,
And for his creed give Love's full mead;

Amen. Thy Will be done.
TWO VOICES
VIRTUE
O wanton one, O wicked one, how was it that you came,
Down from
the paths of purity, to walk the streets of shame? And wherefore was
that precious wealth, God gave to you in trust, Flung broadcast for the
feet of men to trample in the dust?
VICE
O prudent one, O spotless one, now listen well to me.
The ways that
led to where I tread these paths of sin, were three: And God, and good
folks, all combined to make them fair to see.
VIRTUE
O wicked one, blasphemous one, now how could that thing be?
VICE
The first was Nature's lovely road, whereon my life was