France

OH, golden-lilied Queen—immortal France!   
 Thou heritress of storied name and deed,   
 As thou hast pluck’d, so oft, from cumb’ring weed   
The fragrant flow’rs of Freedom and Romance,   
So shalt thou seize to-day the fateful chance         
 That comes to thee in this thy hour of need,   
 When once again thy sacred frontiers bleed   
Beneath the thrust of the Invader’s lance.   
  
For, with the hour, hath also come again   
 The pure and splendid spirit of the Maid           
   To nerve they sons and wipe away thy tears,   
Till, sanctified by Sorrow, purged by pain,   
 Thou shalt arise, unfettered, unafraid,   
   And walk in honour down the deathless years.