10.04.2012, 13:55
Empire
The Growth of the Spirit
Out of the dust and clash of war it grew,
Of sea-dog's stormy boast and iron pride,
Of lust of Eldorados far descried,
Of hate of Philip and his hell-fire crew,
Of joy to follow on where glory flew,
Of giant galleons harried and defied,
Of will to die the death that Nelson died,
Of all the dream the soul of Chatham knew.
And now although the Viking days be done,
Though mercy flower from blood our fathers poured,
Though lovelier visions light us than of old,
Yet death is on us and our race is run
If in our scabbard sleep the lightning sword,
If Folly lull us with her dream of gold.
The Growth of the Spirit
Out of the dust and clash of war it grew,
Of sea-dog's stormy boast and iron pride,
Of lust of Eldorados far descried,
Of hate of Philip and his hell-fire crew,
Of joy to follow on where glory flew,
Of giant galleons harried and defied,
Of will to die the death that Nelson died,
Of all the dream the soul of Chatham knew.
And now although the Viking days be done,
Though mercy flower from blood our fathers poured,
Though lovelier visions light us than of old,
Yet death is on us and our race is run
If in our scabbard sleep the lightning sword,
If Folly lull us with her dream of gold.