Page:The Bengali Book of English Verse.djvu/58

26

This is no time to weep, my son, By weeping you do wrong, But bear thee up right manfully And in God's love be strong.

Lovely and large thy heritage, As lovely as a bride, To keep her still thine own gird on That bright sword by thy side.

See now it hangs on yonder wall (For powerless is the hand That wielded it in hunt or fray) My own, my noble brand.

Read what is writ on either side And write it in your breast, Those characters of gold shine clear: 'The merciful are blest.'

Upon the jewelled hilt and haft The diamond-sparks bespeak The grasp around it must be pure Though not infirm or weak.

At honour's beck, in kingdom's cause, Like lightning let it fall, With power avenge the oppressed and wronged, And justly rule o'er all.

The blood-stains on the polished steel At mercy's fount make clean, And may thy battle-fields right soon With waving crops be green.