Daughter of old England!
Buckle on his sword:
Forth to fight for England
Goes your king and lord, -
Goes to battle's thunder,
Goes, perchance to fall:
Happy homes to sunder,
Hark! The bugle's call!

Tho' our hearts be cheerless,
Shall we cling and cry,
When our menfolk fearless
Go their ways to die?
Shall we, - wrong enacting
By the love we claim, -
Foolish, weak, exacting,
Drag them back from fame?

Tho', as well it may do,
Seems the waiting long,
Let us, e'en as they do,
Suffer and be strong:
Yet awhile unshrinking,
Let our smiles be glad,
Lest they grieve in thinking
That they have left us sad.

Dies the bugle's thrilling,
Calling to the fray;
Fades the brown and silver
Down the cheering way.
Now awhile our weeping
May in secret flow:
Hold them, Heav'n keeping!
Let us turn and go!