The wind is piping loud; The wind is piping loud, my boys, Our heritage the sea. CCL A. Cunningham YE Mariners of England That guard our native seas! Whose flag has braved, a thousand years, Your glorious standard launch again To match another foe: And sweep through the deep, While the stormy winds do blow; While the battle rages loud and long And the stormy winds do blow. The spirits of your fathers Shall start from every wave For the deck it was their field of fame, Where Blake and mighty Nelson fell Your manly hearts shall glow, While the stormy winds do blow; And the stormy winds do blow. Britannia needs no bulwarks, Her march is o'er the mountain-waves, With thunders from her native oak As they roar on the shore, When the stormy winds do blow; The meteor flag of England Till danger's troubled night depart When the storm has ceased to blow; T. Campbell CCLI BATTLE OF THE BALTIC OF Nelson and the North Sing the glorious day's renown, When to battle fierce came forth All the might of Denmark's crown, And her arms along the deep proudly shone; By each gun the lighted brand In a bold determined hand, And the Prince of all the land Like leviathans afloat Lay their bulwarks on the brine; It was ten of April morn by the chime: There was silence deep as death; And the boldest held his breath But the might of England flush'd And her van the fleeter rush'd O'er the deadly space between. 'Hearts of oak!' our captains cried, when each gun From its adamantine lips Spread a death-shade round the ships, Like the hurricane eclipse Of the sun. Again! again! again! And the havoc did not slack, Till a feeble cheer the Dane Their shots along the deep slowly boom: -- As they strike the shatter'd sail; Out spoke the victor then So peace instead of death let us bring: Then Denmark bless'd our chief As death withdrew his shades from the day: O'er a wide and woeful sight, Where the fires of funeral light Died away. Now joy, old England, raise! Whilst the wine-cup shines in light; By thy wild and stormy steep, Brave hearts! to Britain's pride Soft sigh the winds of Heaven o'er their grave! And the mermaid's song condoles Of the brave! T. Campbell CCLII ODE TO DUTY STERN Daughter of the Voice of God! O Duty! if that name thou love From vain temptations dost set free, And calm'st the weary strife of frail humanity! There are who ask not if thine eye Upon the genial sense of youth: Glad hearts! without reproach or blot, |