To Belgium

CHAMPION of human honour, let us lave

Your feet and bind your wounds on bended knee.

Though coward hands have nailed you to the tree

And shed your innocent blood and dug your grave,

Rejoice and live! Your oriflamme shall wave—

While man has power to perish and be free—

A golden flame of holiest Liberty,—

Proud as the dawn and as the sunset brave.

Belgium, where dwelleth reverence for right

Enthroned above all ideals; where your fate

And your supernal patience and your might

Most sacred grow in human estimate,

You shine a star above this stormy night

Little no more, but infinitely great.