IF ancient England nobly sing,
We hearken to the song.
Her words ten million echoes bring
To urge the strain along;
It rallies farm and market-square,

If so the note be true,—
But what if every verse declare
But one inspired Yahoo?

Fifty thousand horse and foot
Trail back from Table Bay

In shame to recollect the toot
To which they sailed away;
Five times fifty thousand more
The fight could barely save,
With aid from every British shore

To quell the burgher brave.

Through forests dim, o’er myriad lakes,
Where sea-wide prairies swell,
It seemed our hearts were like to break;
What time the Shame befell

Of “I regret I must report
Surrendering the Nek,”
And “Guns all captured,” “No support,”
Death dogging kop and trek.

From stroke of axe, from herded ranch,

From league-long furrows black,
We sent our children stark and staunch
To tread the battle track;
All bound by grace on England’s part
To help her hoe the row,

But never hatred in their heart
Against the hero foe.

Majuba Hill! Oh, yes, we grieve
Full sorely at the name,
But what hyena can conceive

We would revenge the blame?
Ye braves who stormed a mountain crest
To fight with five to one,
By God, praise thunders in the breast
To think such deed was done!

And is it England’s voice declares
That yielded men whose souls
Confronted all that valor dares
Must lack the freeman’s polls?
Must lack the balm that soothed away

Canadian memories sore,
And drew to England’s battle day
As friends the foes of yore?

Now bear the strain to London town,
Oh, winds of England’s main,

And tell the heirs of old renown
We lilt their old refrain:
“Full measure heaped and running o’er
Of every freeman’s right
Subdues the heart of heroes more

Than all the storms of fight.”