XVIII

That we should call on passion to confront

The brutal with the brutal, and, amid

      This ripening world, suggest a lion-hunt

And lion-vengeance for the wrongs men did

      And do now, though the spears are getting blunt.

We only call, because the sight and proof

      Of lion-strength hurts nothing; and to show

A lion-heart, and measure paw with hoof,

      Helps something, even, and will instruct a foe

Well as the onslaught, how to stand aloof!

      Or else the world gets past the mere brute blow

Given or taken. Children use the fist

      Until they are of age to use the brain:

And so we needed Cæsars to assist

      Man's justice, and Napoleons to explain

God's counsel, when a point was nearly missed,

      Until our generations should attain

Christ's stature nearer. Not that we, alas!

      Attain already; but a single inch

Will help to look down on the swordsman's pass,

As Roland on a coward who could flinch;

And, after chloroform and ether-gas,

      We find out slowly what the bee and finch

Have ready found, through Nature's lamp in each,—

      How to our races we may justify

Our individual claims, and, as we reach

      Our own grapes, bend the top vines to supply

The children's uses: how to fill a breach

      With olive branches; how to quench a lie

With truth, and smite a foe upon the cheek

      With Christ's most conquering kiss! why, these are things

Worth a great nation's finding, to prove weak

      The "glorious arms" of military kings!

And so with wide embrace, my England, seek

      To stifle the bad heat and flickerings

Of this world's false and nearly expended fire!

      Draw palpitating arrows to the wood,

And send abroad thy high hopes, and thy higher

      Resolves, from that most virtuous altitude,

Till nations shall unconsciously aspire

      By looking up to thee, and learn that good

And glory are not different. Announce law

      By freedom; exalt chivalry by peace;

Instruct how clear calm eyes can overawe,

      And how pure hands, stretched simply to release

A bond-slave, will not need a sword to draw

      To be held dreadful. O my England, crease

Thy purple with no alien agonies

      Which reach thee through the net of war! No war!

Disband thy captains, change thy victories,

      Be henceforth prosperous as the angels are—

Helping, not humbling.