Art thou awake at last, or wilt thou sleep
Still on the downy cushions of thy sloth,
Trusting the ambient armour of the deep
To ward the foeman's darts? However loth,
Thou must arise, draw thine own armour on,
Unsheathe thy sword, and, faithful, take thy stand,
Foremost amid thy friends. Thy banners shone
On Belgian fields before; as now, thy land
Was menaced then; as then, be strong, endure!
But when the dark days pass, if pass they do,
Slumber no more, in foolish dream secure;
With blood and sweat anneal thy sword anew.
