Masefield

I thought on England in her tragic hour Of sacrifice supreme for human right; Beheld her bleeding, broken in the fight With a massed tyranny's stupendous power; And musing on far graves where lie her flower Of manhood, memory so dimmed my sight That I forgot the dawn that crowned her night— The victory that was her valor's dower.

Then, even as I grieved, I saw once more How genius can atone and re-create: How, by its own high gift, it can restore The Land that gives it birth to sovereign State, Rekindling glories that it knew before, And deepening its life to life as great!