f our fathers, known of old,--
Lord of our far-flung battle line,--
Beneath whose awful hand we hold
Dominion over palm and pine,--
Lord God of Hosts, be with us yet,
Lest we forget,--lest we forget!

The tumult and the shouting dies,
The captains and the kings depart:
Still stands thine ancient sacrifice,--
An humble and a contrite heart.
Lord God of Hosts, be with us yet,
Lest we forget,--lest we forget!

Far-called, our navies melt away;
On dune and headland sinks the fire.
Lo! all our pomp of yesterday
Is one with Nineveh and Tyre!
Judge of the nations, spare us yet,
Lest we forget,--lest we forget!

If, drunk with sight of power, we loose
Wild tongues that have not thee in awe,
Such boasting as the Gentiles use
Or lesser breeds without the law,--
Lord God of Hosts, be with us yet,
Lest we forget,--lest we forget!

For heathen heart that puts her trust
In reeking tube and iron shard,
All valiant dust that builds on dust,
And guarding calls not thee to guard,
For frantic boasts and foolish word,
Thy mercy on thy people, Lord!
_Amen_.

RUDYARD KIPLING.

* * * * *

ENGLAND AND HER COLONIES.

She stands, a thousand-wintered tree,
By countless morns impearled;
Her broad roots coil beneath the sea,
Her branches sweep the world;
Her seeds, by careless winds conveyed,
Clothe the remotest strand
With forests from her scatterings made,
New nations fostered in her shade,
And linking land with land.

O ye by wandering tempest sown
'Neath every alien star,
Forget not whence the breath was blown
That wafted you afar!
For ye are still her ancient seed
On younger soil let fall--
Children of Britain's island-breed,
To whom the Mother in her need
Perchance may one day call.

WILLIAM WATSON.

* * * * *

SCOTLAND.

FROM "THE LAY OF THE LAST MINSTREL," CANTO VI.

O Caledonia! stern and wild,
Meet nurse for a poetic child!
Land of brown heath and shaggy wood,
Land of the mountain and the flood,
Land of my sires! what mortal hand
Can e'er untie the filial band
That knits me to thy rugged strand?
Still, as I view each well-known scene,
Think what is now, and what hath been,
Seems, as to me, of all bereft,
Sole friends thy woods and streams were left;
And th