War Drums (Scharkie)/Songs of the Southern Seas
SONGS OF THE SOUTHERN SEAS.
I
There are murmurs that float on the wings of the storm;
There are shriekings of whistles, and rumblings of cars;
There are roars from the sea coming up thick and warm,
Like thunders that roll from the feet of the stars.
There are stampings of feet to the beat of the drum;
There are plaudits prolonging the warrior's deeds;
There are lightnings of thought, striking pallid and dumb
The blinded conceptions of ghastliest creeds.
There are murmurs that float on the wings of the storm;
There are shriekings of whistles, and rumblings of cars;
There are roars from the sea coming up thick and warm,
Like thunders that roll from the feet of the stars.
There are stampings of feet to the beat of the drum;
There are plaudits prolonging the warrior's deeds;
There are lightnings of thought, striking pallid and dumb
The blinded conceptions of ghastliest creeds.
II
There were times when our projects lay darkened and sealed,
Like the depth of the dark e'er the dawn of the day;
But glowering wastes turn to glimmering fields
Where the hand of a Briton is pointing the way.
The click of the pick, and the ring of the axe,
And the split of the splinters that crackle, and fly,
And the jingle of chains over leaguering tracks,
Are a nations far echoes that never can die.
There were times when our projects lay darkened and sealed,
Like the depth of the dark e'er the dawn of the day;
But glowering wastes turn to glimmering fields
Where the hand of a Briton is pointing the way.
The click of the pick, and the ring of the axe,
And the split of the splinters that crackle, and fly,
And the jingle of chains over leaguering tracks,
Are a nations far echoes that never can die.
III
And cycles will fly on the pinions of time,
And changes will shiver our idols to dust;
And customs we hugged to our hearts like a chime
Shall be battered with stampers, and riddled with rust.
And high on the steeps of progression of ages,
Where clamouring peoples will grapple and shout,
Proud problems, once blinding conception of sages,
In clear revelations shall bud, and burst out.
And cycles will fly on the pinions of time,
And changes will shiver our idols to dust;
And customs we hugged to our hearts like a chime
Shall be battered with stampers, and riddled with rust.
And high on the steeps of progression of ages,
Where clamouring peoples will grapple and shout,
Proud problems, once blinding conception of sages,
In clear revelations shall bud, and burst out.
IV
And if feuds that have sunk the old Roman in death
Draw the blade that dissevers our kindliest ties,
Or if factions uplift with their horrible breath,
The dread image of blood on bewildering eyes,
Then the world will behold the decay of a name
And darkness o'erveiling the land as a deep;
The mournful descent of the temple of fame,
And the horrible grip of a ghastly sleep.
And if feuds that have sunk the old Roman in death
Draw the blade that dissevers our kindliest ties,
Or if factions uplift with their horrible breath,
The dread image of blood on bewildering eyes,
Then the world will behold the decay of a name
And darkness o'erveiling the land as a deep;
The mournful descent of the temple of fame,
And the horrible grip of a ghastly sleep.
CHORUS
Then drink a deep draught for perfection of law
To mould, for our people, equation of rights.
Let union and peace, like high beacons before,
Lead us on, side by side to delectable heights.
Till factions lie buried with misery and crime,
Deep, dark in the dust, to be trodden for aye,
And our people, to errorless marches of time,
Tread on to sublimer conceptions of day,
Then drink a deep draught for perfection of law
To mould, for our people, equation of rights.
Let union and peace, like high beacons before,
Lead us on, side by side to delectable heights.
Till factions lie buried with misery and crime,
Deep, dark in the dust, to be trodden for aye,
And our people, to errorless marches of time,
Tread on to sublimer conceptions of day,