WHEN it is finished, Father, and we set The war-stained buckler and the bright blade by, Bid us remember then what bloody sweat, What thorns, what agony, Purchased our wreaths of harvest and ripe ears; Whose empty hands, whose empty hearts, whose tears In this Gethsemane Ransomed the days to be. We leave them to Thee, Saviour. We've no price, No utmost treasure of the seas or lands, No words, no deeds, to pay their sacrifice. Only while England stands, Their pearl, their pride, their altar,—not their grave,— Bid us remember in what hours they gave All that mankind may give That we might live. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE WARDEN OF THE CINQUE PORTS (THE DUKE OF WELLINGTON) by HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW SAPPHO AND PHAON: 2. THE TEMPLE OF CHASTITY by MARY DARBY ROBINSON THOSE WHO LOVE by SARA TEASDALE JERUSALEM; THE EMANATION OF THE GIANT ALBION: CHAPTER 2 by WILLIAM BLAKE LINES FROM A MANUSCRIPT - 1807-8 by SAMUEL TAYLOR COLERIDGE THE BALLAD OF CASSANDRA BROWN by HELEN GRAY CONE |