HARRI WEBB.

Far heard and faintly calling

Held between hill and hill,

Echo on echo falling

The thunder lingers still.

The highborn and the lowly

In their great love overthrown

For the land that is ours alone.

And by ways that are wonders and mystery

From silence and shadow they come

From memory and legend and history

They arise to the beat of the drum.

The heartbeat that hammers with longing

In the breasts of the few who are brave

That summons the heroes thronging

From the gallows and the grave.

And the sunrise shall not blind them

Who bestir to the last alarm

To the host that rallies behind them

And lends its strength to their arm.