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To the land of the waiting springtime,
And the children nine and ten (Stand up!),
And the life we live and know
Let a fellow sing o' the little things he cares about, If a fellow fights for the little things he cares about With the weight of a two-fold blow!
To the far-flung fenceless prairie
Where the quick cloud-shadows trail,
To the home of the floods and thunder,
To the last and the largest Empire,
To our dear dark foster-mothers,
To the heathen songs they sung
To the heathen speech we babbled
Ere we came to the white man's tongue.
To the cool of our deep verandas
To the blaze of our jewelled main,
To the hearth of our people's people—
To the Power-house of the Line!
We've drunk to the Queen-God bless her!—
And the Cross swings low for the morn;
A health to the Native-born (Stand up!),
All bound to sing o' the little things we care about,
By the might of our cable-tow (Take hands!),
All round the world (and a little loop to pull it by),
AREWELL, Romance!' the Cave-men said; 'With bone well carved he went away, Flint arms the ignoble arrowhead,
And jasper tips the spear to-day. Changed are the Gods of Hunt and Dance, And he with these. Farewell, Romance!'
'Farewell, Romance!' the Lake-folk sighed;
Hold him who scorns our hutted piers.
'Farewell, Romance!' the Soldier spoke;
Who paid good blows. Romance, farewell!'
'Farewell, Romance!' the Traders cried;
'Our keels ha' lain with every sea; The dull-returning wind and tide
Heave up the wharf where we would be;
'Good-bye, Romance!' the Skipper said; 'He vanished with the coal we burn; Our dial marks full steam ahead,
Our speed is timed to half a turn. Sure as the ferried barge we ply
'Twixt port and port. Romance, good-bye!'
'Romance!' the season-tickets mourn,
'He never ran to catch his train,
But passed with coach and guard and horn-
And all unseen
Romance brought up the nine-fifteen.
His hand was on the lever laid,
His oil-can soothed the worrying cranks,
Robed, crowned and throned, he wove his spell, Where heart-blood beat or hearth-smoke curled, With unconsidered miracle,
Hedged in a backward-gazing world;
Then taught his chosen bard to say: 'Our King was with us-yesterday!'
THE RHYME OF THE THREE SEALERS
WAY by the lands of the Japanee
Where the paper lanterns glow
And the crews of all the shipping drink
And ebb of Yokohama Bay
Swigs chattering through the buoys,
Of a hidden sea and a hidden fight,
When the 'Baltic' ran from the 'Northern Light'
Now this is the Law of the Muscovite, that he proves with shot and steel,
When ye come by his isles in the Smoky Sea ye must not take the seal,
Where the gray sea goes nakedly between the weed-hung shelves,
And the little blue fox he is bred for his skin and the seal they breed for themselves;
For when the matkas seek the shore to drop their pups