  (March 28, 1918) The little things of which we lately chattered— The dearth of taxis or the dawn of spring; Themes we discussed as though they really mattered, Like rationed meat or raiders on the wing;— How thin it seems to-day, this vacant prattle, Drowned by the thunder rolling in the West, Voice of the great arbitrament of battle That puts our temper to the final test. Thither our eyes are turned, our hearts are straining, Where those we love, whose courage laughs at fear, Amid the storm of steel around them raining Go to their death for all we hold most dear. New born of this supremest hour of trial, In quiet confidence shall be our strength, Fixed on a faith that will not take denial Nor doubt that we have found our soul at length. O England, staunch of nerve and strong of sinew, Best when you face the odds and stand at bay, Now show a watching world what stuff is in you; Now make your soldiers proud of you to-day! Sir Owen Seaman Reprinted by permission of London "Punch" |
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