FOR THE PRESENT TIME

In all this time of agony

How does this mighty nation drift:

Our blood is red upon the sea,

The foe is merciless and swift.

We doubt, we sway,

And day by day

Our hearts are thicker with distrust....

We would, should, could, can, may — we must!

So many divers voices call,

And cloud our souls with dull dismay:

O when shall cry, clear over all,

The Voice that none can disobey?

My country, speak!

In no oblique

Uncertain tone; be this our cry:

If Honour is not ours, we die.

My country, speak! They lie who say

That we are soft with love of home;

For still, in all the ancient way,

Our ships shall kiss the perilled foam.

Yea, slow to wrath,

But lo, our path

Leads straight at last, and blithe to tread:

We shall live better, having bled.