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t beats with burning glow, The wrong'd and the weak to defend; And strikes as soon for a trampled foe As it does for a soul-bound friend. It nurtures a deep and honest love, The passions of faith and pride, And yearns with the fondness of a dove, To the light of its own fireside, 'Tis a rich rough gem--deny it who can-- And this is the heart of an Englishman. The Briton may traverse the pole or the zone And boldly claim his right, For he calls such a vast domain his own That the sun never sets on his might. Let the haughty stranger seek to know The place of his home and birth; And a flush will pour from cheek to brow While he tells of his native earth; For a glorious charter--deny it who can-- Is breathed in the words, "I'm an Englishman." ENGLAND GOES TO BATTLE. BY GERALD MASSEY. Now, glory to our England, She arises, calm and grand, The ancient spirit in her eyes,-- The good sword in her hand! Our royal right on battle-ground Was aye to bear the brunt: Ho! brave heart, with one passionate bound, Take the old place in front! Now glory to our England, As she rises, calm and grand, The ancient spirit in her eyes,-- The good sword in her hand! Who would not fight for England? Who would not fling a life I' the ring, to meet a Tyrant's gage, And glory in the strife? Her stem is thorny, but doth burst A glorious Rose a-top! And shall our proud Rose wither? First We'll drain life's dearest drop! Who would not fight for England? Who would not fling a life I' the ring, to meet a tyrant's gage, And glory in the strife? To battle goes our England, As gallant and as gay As lover to the altar, on A merry marriage-day. A weary night she stood to watch The clouds of dawn up-rolled; And her young heroes strain to match The valour of the old. To battle goes our England, As gallant and as gay As lover to the altar, on A merry marriage-day. Now, fair befall our England, On her proud and perilous road: And woe and wail to those who make Her footprints wet with blood. Up with our
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