- Poem: MATER DOLOROSA.
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WHAT have I given thee,
England, beloved of me?
I have no gold for thy desolate,
I have n spear to guard thy gate,
My hands are weak on the harp of fate
In the hour of threnody.
Yet have given, I;
And England, my gifts lie
Far from thee and thy sacred strand.
I have given the hand that held my hand,
The feet that once on my palm could stand,
The hopes I was nourished by.
All that I had, I give,
The life that I bade live,
The heart that my heart made to beat,
The lips erstwhile on my lips so sweet
These have I given; is it not meet
To have striven that thou mayst strive?
The day of France doth shrine
This only gift of mine;
England, be it not made in vain,
Be but thy glory great as our pain.
We are glad to have given--would give again
The light of our days for thine!