That have no ground to keep.

Give them the rest that they covet most,

And who shall next to sleep, good sirs,

In such a trench to sleep?

God rest you, peaceful gentlemen, but give us leave to pass.

[45]

We go to dig a nation's grave as great as England was.

For this Kingdom and this Glory and this Power and this Pride

Three hundred years it flourished—in three hundred days it died.

Singing:—Pour oil for a frozen throng,

That lie about the ways.

Give them the warmth they have lacked so long

And what shall be next to blaze, good sirs,

On such a pyre to blaze?

God rest you, thoughtful gentlemen, and send your sleep is light!

Remains of this dominion no shadow, sound, or sight,

Except the sound of weeping and the sight of burning fire,

[46]

And the shadow of a people that is trampled into mire.

Singing:—Break bread for a starving folk

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