194 E. NESBIT
��Her robe is woven of glory and of renown, Hers are the golden laden argosies
And lordship of the wild and watery ways, Her flag is blown across the utmost seas ;
Dead nations built her throne and kingdoms blaze For jewels in her crown. Her empire like a girdle doth enfold
The world ; her feet on ancient foes are set ; She wears the steel-wrought blood-bright amulet Wrought by her children in the days of old.
Yet in a treasury of such gems as these,
Which power and sovereignty and kingship fill
To the vast limit of the circling sun, England, our Mother, in her heart holds still As her most precious jewel, save only one,
The priceless pearl of peace —
Peace, plucked from out of the very heart of war Through the long agony of strenuous years. Made pure by blood and sanctified by tears,
A pearl to lie where England's treasures are.
O peaceful English lanes, all white with may, O English meadows where the grass grows tall, O red-roofed village, field and farm and fold Where the long shadows of the elm-trees fall On the wide pastures which the sun calls gold, And twilight dew calls grey ;
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