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THE LION’S WHELPS
19th December, 1899.
There is scarlet on his forehead,
There are scars across his face,
’Tis the bloody dew of battle dripping down, dripping down,
But the war-heart of the Lion
Turns to iron in its place
When he halts to face disaster, when he turns to meet disgrace,
Stung and keen and mettled with the life-blood of his own.
Let the hunters ’ware who flout him,
When he calls his whelps about him,
When he sets the goal before him and he settles to the pace.
There are scars across his face,
’Tis the bloody dew of battle dripping down, dripping down,
But the war-heart of the Lion
Turns to iron in its place
When he halts to face disaster, when he turns to meet disgrace,
Stung and keen and mettled with the life-blood of his own.
Let the hunters ’ware who flout him,
When he calls his whelps about him,
When he sets the goal before him and he settles to the pace.
Tricked and wounded! Are we beaten
Though they hold our strength at play?
We have faced these things aforetimes, long ago, long ago.
Though they hold our strength at play?
We have faced these things aforetimes, long ago, long ago.
