Now in thy splendour go before us. <br />Spirit of England, ardent-eyed, <br />Enkindle this dear earth that bore us <br />In the hour of peril purified. <br /> <br />The cares we hugged drop out of vision, <br />Our hearts with deeper thought dilate, <br />We step from days of sour division <br />Into the grandeur of our fate. <br /> <br />For us the glorious dead have striven, <br />They battled that we might be free. <br />We to their living cause are given; <br />We arm for men that are to be. <br /> <br />Among the nations nobliest chartered, <br />England recalls her heritage. <br />In her is that which is not bartered, <br />Which force can neither quell nor cage. <br /> <br />17 For her immortal stars are burning <br />18 With her the hope that's never done, <br />19 The seed that's in the Spring's returning, <br />20 The very flower that seeks the sun. <br /> <br /> <br />She fights the force that feeds desire on <br />Dreams of a prey to seize and kill, <br />The barren creed of blood and iron, <br />Vampire of Europe's wasted will… <br /> <br />Endure, O Earth! and thou, awaken, <br />Purged by this dreadful winnowing-fan, <br />O wronged, untameable, unshaken <br />Soul of divinely suffering man.<br /><br />Robert Laurence Binyon<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/the-fourth-of-august/
