Classic Poem

For Right, not Might, you fought. The foe,
Checked in his wild World-overthrow,
Ravaged, with his remorseless band,
Your ancient fanes and peaceful land,
Thinking to crush you at a blow.

You are not crushed, as well we know.
If you are trodden, 'tis to grow;
Nor can they fail at last who stand
For Right, not Might!

God speed you, Belgium! Time will show
How large a debt to you we owe.
To you—through all reverses grand—
Men stretch to-day a grateful hand…
God speed you still—in weal and woe—
For Right, not Might.