An English Toast.

The English soil! - 'tis hallowed ground:             Its restless children roam         The world, but they have never found             So dear a land as home;         Their passion for its hills and downs             Nor space nor time can spoil;         A golden mist of memory crowns             The good old English soil.         The English race! - its pluck and pith,             Its power to stay and win, -         Wise Alfred's, dauntless Harold's kith,             And Coeur de Lion's kin!         Sir Philip Sidney, Hampden, Noll,             Who sat in kingly place!         Wolfe, Nelson, Wellington and all             The good old English race!         The English speech! - the copious tongue,             Terse, vivid, plastic, fit,         Which Chaucer, Spenser loved and sung,             Which gave us Holy Writ;         Which Shakespeare, Milton used, to write,             Which Taylor used, to preach,         And Pitt, to speak, as we to-night -             The good old English speech!         "St. George and Merrie England!" - still             The stirring phrase imparts         Warmth to the blood, and sends a thrill             Through more than English hearts.         God save Old England by His grace!             We all alike beseech,         Who know the English soil or race             And speak the English speech.