Page:National Lyrics.pdf/212

196

But let the angry sun From heaven look fiercely red, Unfelt by those whose task is done! There slumber England's dead.

The hurricane hath might Along the Indian shore, And far, by Ganges' banks at night Is heard the tiger's roar.

But let the sound roll on! It hath no tone of dread, For those that from their toils are gone— —There slumber England's dead!

Loud rush the torrent floods The western wilds among, And free, in green Columbia's woods, The hunter's bow is strong.