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 red-cross banner—­roll
A thunder-peal of drums! 
Fight on there, every valiant soul
Have courage!  England comes! 
Now, fair befall our England,
On her proud and perilous road: 
And woe and wail to those who make
Her footprints wet with blood!

Now, victory to our England! 
And where’er she lifts her hand
In freedom’s fight, to rescue Right,
God bless the dear old land! 
And when the Storm hath passed away,
In glory and in calm,
May she sit down i’ the green o’ the day,
And sing her peaceful psalm! 
Now victory to our England! 
And where’er she lifts her hand
In freedom’s fight, to rescue Right,
God bless the dear old land!

ENGLAND ONCE MORE.

BY FRANCIS TURNER PALGRAVE.

Old if this England be
The Ship at heart is sound,
And the fairest she and gallantest
That ever sail’d earth round! 
And children’s children in the years
Far off will live to see
Her silver wings fly round the world,
Free heralds of the free! 
While now on Him who long has bless’d
To bless her as of yore,
Once more we cry for England,
England once more!