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Below are poems by William Wordsworth, William Ernest Henley, Henry Newbolt, William James Linton and Charles Leonard Moore, all of who are "singing the praises" of England. Read the poems and do an activity which compares them and tests your comprehension. Finally, do some writing yourself and read texts written by other users.
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Young England – What is Then Become of Old
by William Wordsworth
England, My England
by William Ernest Henley
The Vigil
by Henry Newbolt
Fair England
by William James Linton
To England
by Charles Leonard Moore
Young England - what is then become of Old
Of dear Old England? Think they she is dead,
Dead to the very name? Presumption fed
On empty air! That name will keep its hold
In the true filial bosom's inmost fold
For ever. The Spirit of Alfred, at the head
Of all who for her rights watched, toiled and bled,
Knows that this prophecy is not too bold.
What - how! shall she submit in will and deed
To Beardless Boys - an imitative race,
The 'servum pecus' of a Gallic breed?
Dear Mother! if thou 'must' thy steps retrace,
Go where at least meek Innocency dwells;
Let Babes and Sucklings be thy oracles.
by William Wordsworth
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What have I done for you,
England, my England?
What is there I would not do,
England, my own?
With your glorious eyes austere,
As the Lord were walking near,
Whispering terrible things and dear
As the Song on your bugles blown,
England—
Round the world on your bugles blown!
Where shall the watchful sun,
England, my England,
Match the master-work you've done,
England, my own?
When shall he rejoice agen
Such a breed of mighty men
As come forward, one to ten,
To the Song on your bugles blown,
England—
Down the years on your bugles blown?
Ever the faith endures,
England, my England:—
'Take and break us: we are yours,
England, my own!
Life is good, and joy runs high
Between English earth and sky:
Death is death; but we shall die
To the Song on your bugles blown,
England—
To the stars on your bugles blown!'
They call you proud and hard,
England, my England:
You with worlds to watch and ward,
England, my own!
You whose mail'd hand keeps the keys
Of such teeming destinies,
You could know nor dread nor ease
Were the Song on your bugles blown,
England,
Round the Pit on your bugles blown!
Mother of Ships whose might,
England, my England,
Is the fierce old Sea's delight,
England, my own,
Chosen daughter of the Lord,
Spouse-in-Chief of the ancient Sword,
There 's the menace of the Word
In the Song on your bugles blown,
England—
Out of heaven on your bugles blown!
by William Ernest Henley
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England! where the sacred flame
Burns before the inmost shrine,
Where the lips that love thy name
Consecrate their hopes and thine,
Where the banners of thy dead
Weave their shadows overhead,
Watch beside thine arms to-night,
Pray that God defend the Right.
Think that when to-morrow comes
War shall claim command of all,
Thou must hear the roll of drums,
Thou must hear the trumpet’s call.
Now, before thy silence ruth,
Commune with the voice of truth;
England! on thy knees to-night
Pray that God defend the Right.
Single-hearted, unafraid,
Hither all thy heroes came,
On this altar’s steps were laid
Gordon’s life and Outram’s fame.
England! if thy will be yet
By their great example set,
Here beside thine arms to-night
Pray that God defend the Right.
So shalt thou when morning comes
Rise to conquer or to fall,
Joyful hear the rolling drums,
Joyful hear the trumpets call,
Then let Memory tell thy heart:
“England! what thou wert, thou art!”
Gird thee with thine ancient might,
Forth! and God defend the Right!
by Henry Newbolt
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Our England’s heart is sound as oak;
Our English will is firm;
And through our actions Freedom spoke
In history’s proudest term:
When Blake was lord from shore to shore,
And Cromwell rul’d the land,
And Milton’s words were shields of power
To stay the oppressor’s hand.
Our England’s heart is yet as sound,
As firm our English will;
And tyrants, be they cowl’d or crown’d,
Shall find us fearless still.
And though our Vane be in his tomb,
Though Hampden’s blood is cold,
Their spirits live to lead our doom
As in the days of old.
Our England’s heart is stout as oak;
Our English will as brave
As when indignant Freedom spoke
From Eliot’s prison grave.
And closing yet again with Wrong,
A world in arms shall see
Our England foremost of the strong
And first among the free.
by William James Linton
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Now England lessens on my sight;
The bastioned front of Wales,
Discolored and indefinite,
There like a cloud-wreath sails:
A league, and all those thronging hills
Must sink beneath the sea;
But while one touch of Memory thrills,
They yet shall stay with me.
I claim no birthright in yon sod,
Though thence my blood and name;
My sires another region trod,
Fought for another fame;
Yet a son’s tear this moment wrongs
My eager watching eyes,
Land of the lordliest deeds and songs
Since Greece was great and wise!
Thou hedgerow thing that queenest the Earth,
What magic hast?—what art?
A thousand years of work and worth
Are clustered at thy heart:
The ghosts of those that made thee free
To throng thy hearth are wont;
And as thy richest reliquary
Thou wearest thy Abbey’s front!
Aye, ere my distance is complete
I see thy heroes come
And crowd yon shadowy mountain seat,
Still guardians of their home;
Thy Drake, thy Nelson, and thy Bruce
Glow out o’er dusky tides;
The rival Roses blend in truce,
And King with Roundhead rides.
And with these phantoms born to last,
A storm of music breaks;
And bards, pavilioned in the past,—
Each from his tomb awakes!
The ring and glitter of thy swords,
Thy lovers’ bloom and breath,
By them transmuted into words,
Redeem the world from death.
My path is West! My heart before
Bounds o’er the dancing wave;
Yet something ’s left I must deplore—
A magic wild and grave:
Though Honor live and Romance dwell
By mine own streams and woods,
Yet not in spire and keep so well
Are built such lofty moods.
England, perchance our love were more
If we were matched and met
In battle squadron on the shore,
Or here on ocean set:
How were all other banners furled
If that great duel rose!
For we alone in all the world
Are worthy to be foes.
If we should fail or you should fly,
’T were but a twinned disgrace,
For both are bound to bear on high
The laurels of one race:—
No fear! new blooms shall bud above
Upon the ancient wreath,
For both can gentle be to Love,
And insolent to Death.
Land of the lion-hearted brood,
I breathe a last adieu;
To Her who reigns across the flood
My loyalty is true:
But with my service to her o’er,
Thou, England, ownest the rest,
For I must worship and adore
Whate’er is brave and best.
by Charles Leonard Moore
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Write a poem that "sings the praises" of your country. Send it to us.
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I Am 47 But Still In Tears
I used to have a small face
Yet, intensely pretty
From the green coast of Lagos
To the dry desert of Sokoto
From the Deltas of Yenegua
To the Chad basin in Maidugri
That was when you used to hail me
When you stood in brotherhood
Not withstanding your mother tongue
My face was still pretty
Sweet if you like
Like a tiny village
In the hot suns of the summer
That was before the oil boom
And "the wild wild west"
I used to shine
With the eyes of the fairest powder blue
That on occasion would light up
With quick fire of delight
And became a full shining colour
From the last two decades
I have become a frail fellow
Now,
I am meticulously unkempt
With battered shoes
And faded attire
Money bags in the name of law makers
Ethnic clashes due to struggles for land
Religious crisis
And poverty ridden masses
This is me your Nigeria
With my dishevelled hair
And wild roving eyes
Refineries that have failed to refine our crude
Schools that are now producing half baked graduates
I now have the impression of someone
On the verge of losing a long
Drawn out battle with insanity
Now,
I am crying
Weeping
I am in tears
I need help
I need peace
I need you
Or don’t you think so?
Churchill Okonkwo
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Nigeria,
Country of resilient minds
Nigeria,
Country of Verdant hearts,
Inspired by the resonant
Freedom cry of her fore-sires.
Green,
The life weaved in your spleen.
White,
The peace, wide smile on your lips.
Green,
The hope, against all odds, driving your ship.
I salute you
Country of my birth
Country of my death
Country of my existence.
The road to freedom
Is complex, twisted
Jagged, undulating.
Your resolve makes
All the difficulties
Vanish in a whiff.
You will make it
and I, on that mountain-top
With you, will be there.
Dare Oshinuga
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The shining armour had set us free from sadism,
Will it be forever?
Yes! It will, as long as the youth are here for you
The tears will never be seen again
The blood will never be felt again
As everything will be gone by the future
But everything was revolutionized
By the modernization, popularity and fame
Oh! Malaysia! What has happened to your inhabitants?
Why do they ignore the peace and harmony that you have given them ?
Should the prosperous and wealthy life be blamed?
Or they who have forgotten themselves?
Malaysia,
A name that shouldn’t be forgotten
By any people who live and die in this land!
My love towards you, my Malaysia, will never fade away,
As you gave me life to live
And to walk on the sand that you provided
Thank you Malaysia … Thank you Malaysia for the peaceful life, that you presented to us…
THANK YOU MALAYSIA!
Joemeg
On an old piece of crockery:
England England glorious name
Home of freedom star of fame
Light o'er ocean lightly sent
Empress of the element
Gorgeous sea encircled gem
Of the worlds bright diadem
Nations Nations to command
Who but points admiring hand
To thee our own our native land.
Denys Davies
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