Pro Patria Poem by Cicely Fox Smith

Rise up, strong men of England;
On outward journeys wend,
To fight the fight of heroes,
And chance what Fate may send, -
To the house that's always building,
By the road that hath no end!

Rise up, rise up, my brothers,
Rise up and go your way!
What heed the feast and drinking,
The gaming and the play?
Imperial England's fortunes
Have need of men to-day.

Because she gave us glory,
The strength to do and dare,
The high seat 'mid the nations,
The laurell'd name we bear,
We who were born her children
Give heart and hand to her.

From her we got our birthright
Of fame and ancient pride,
The rule of teeming ocean,
Dominion rich and wide;
For us her best have suffered,
For us her bravest died.

Of toil, as of her glory,
We too must take our share,
And hold our proudest guerdon
With willing hearts to wear
The self-sought yoke of freemen,
The chains we joy to bear.

Then go ye forth, my brothers,
Where'er her flag hath flown,
Or white man's speech is heard of,
Or white man's bugle blown;
Our own is England's glory,
Her peril, too, our own!