The Circling Hearths

MY Countrymen, though we are young as yet  
With little history, nought to show  
Of lives enleagued against a foreign foe,  
Torn flags and triumph, glory or regret;  
Still some things make our kinship sweet,  
Some deeds inglorious but of royal worth,  
As when with tireless arms and toiling feet  
We felled the tree and tilled the earth.  
 
’Tis no great way that we have travelled since  
Our feet first shook the storied dust  
Of England from them, when with love and trust  
In one another, and large confidence  
In God above, our ways were ta’en  
’Neath alien skies—each keeping step in mind  
And soul and purpose to one trumpet strain,  
One urging music on the wind:  
 
Yet tears of ours have wet the dust, have wooed  
Some subtle green things from the ground—  
Like violets—only violets never wound  
Such tendrils round the heart: the solitude  
Has seen young hearts with love entwine;  
And many gentle friends gone down to death  
Have mingled with the dust, and made divine  
The very soil we tread beneath.  
 
Thus we have learned to love our country, learned  
To treasure every inch from foam  
To foam; to title her with name of Home;  
To light in her regard a flame that burned  
No land in vain, that calls the eyes  
Of men to glory heights and old renown;  
That wild winds cannot quench, nor thunder-skies  
Make dim, nor many waters drown.  
 
Six hearths are circled round our shores, and round  
The six hearths group a common race,  
Though leagues divide, the one light on their face;  
The same old songs and stories rise; the sound  
Of kindred voices and the dear  
Old English tongue make music; and men move  
From hearth to hearth with little fear  
Of aught save open arms and love.  
 
To keep these hearth-fires red, to keep the door  
Of each house wide—that is our part:  
Surely ’tis noble! Surely heart to heart,  
God’s love upon us and one goal before,  
Is something worth; something to win  
Our hearts to effort; something it were good  
To garner soon; and something ’twould be sin  
To cast aside in wanton mood.  
 
My Countrymen, hats off! with heart and will  
Thank God that you are free, and then  
Arise and don your nationhood like men,  
And manlike face the world for good or ill.  
Peace be to you, and in the tide  
Of years great plenty till Time’s course be run:  
Six Ploughmen in the same field side by side,  
But, if need be, six Swords as one.