Nation and Patriotism

Ill fares the land, to hastening ills a prey, Where wealth accumulates, and men decay; Princes and lords may flourish, or may fade; A breath can make them, as a breath has made; But a bold peasantry, their country’s pride, When once destroy’d, can never be supplied.

Such is the patriot’s boast, where’er we roam, His first, best country ever is, at home.

To scatter plenty o’er a smiling land, And read their hist’ry in a nation’s eyes.

Some village Hampden, that with dauntless breast The little tyrant of his fields withstood; Some mute inglorious Milton here may rest, Some Cromwell guiltless of his country’s blood.

What pity is it That we can die but once to serve our country!

Three poets, in three distant ages born, Greece, Italy, and England did adorn. The first in loftiness of thought surpass’d; The next, in majesty; in both the last. The force of Nature could no further go. To make a third, she joined the former two.

An old, and haughty nation proud in arms.

Wherever the bright sun of heaven shall shine, His honor and the greatness of his name Shall be, and make new nations.

Love thyself last: cherish those hearts that hate thee; Corruption wins not more than honesty. Still in thy right hand carry gentle peace, To silence envious tongues: be just, and fear not. Let all the ends thou aim’st at be thy country’s, Thy God’s, and truth’s; then if thou fall’st, O Cromwell! Thou fall’st a blessed martyr!

I see you stand like greyhounds in the slips, Straining upon the start. The game’s afoot: Follow your spirit; and, upon this charge Cry “God for Harry! England and Saint George!”

O England! model to thy inward greatness, Like little body with a mighty heart, What mightst thou do, that honor would thee do, Were all thy children kind and natural!

Now all the youth of England are on fire, And silken dalliance in the wardrobe lies.

This is the English, not the Turkish court; Not Amurath an Amurath succeeds, But Harry Harry.

England, bound in with the triumphant sea, Whose rocky shore beats back the envious siege Of watery Neptune.

Report of fashions in proud Italy, Whose manners still our tardy apish nation Limps after in base imitation.

Where’er I wander, boast of this I can, Though banish’d, yet a true-born Englishman.

Come the three corners of the world in arms, And we shall shock them. Nought shall make us rue, If England to itself do rest but true.

This England never did, nor never shall, Lie at the proud foot of a conqueror.

Heaven take my soul, and England keep my bones!

What greater grief than the loss of one’s native land.

Athens, nurse of men.

Whoever thinks his friend more important than his country, I rate him nowhere.

Justice in the life and conduct of the State is possible only as first it resides in the hearts and souls of the citizens.

The foundation of every state is the education of its youth.