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SERBIA.
(By Boyle Lawrence, in t.he London
"Daily Express.'')
On the waters of Drina your beacons are
flaring,
Where ye wardens of Freedom keep
guard by its banks;
Though haggard your faces, undaunted
your bearing.
And high arc your hearts and unshaken
your ranks.
Sleepless your eyes, yet a sweet dream
steals o'er them—
Dream of a future of peace and of
rest;
Dark is the way that lies grimly before
them,
Yet shall your journey's end surely be
blest.
Refrain
Serbia, through the battle thunder, hear
the music soft and low.
Song of angels bringing tidings of the
peace ye soon shall know;
Serbia, with your eyes uplifted high above
the awful fray.
See ye not the night is passing? See ye
not the coming day?
And beyond your dear dream of sweet
peace is another—
When the arms of the Homeland again
shall embrace,
The children long-lost who return to the
mother,
The flag floating over a Unified race.
Rampart of Liberty vainly assaulted!
Victim of Christian false to the Cross!
Deluged in sorrow, by peril exalted.
Glorious gain won by desolate loss!
Refrain.
Ye have sworn by the blood of the sons
ye have given,
By the mountains that bred ye, your
vales and your streams
The soil of your fathers the foeman has
riven—
To win and to hold this dear hope of
vour dreams;
Sworn by the mother-tongue that ye are
speaking.
Green of your trees and the blue of your
skies
Depth of the ocean that long ye've been
seeking—
Serbia, radiant, splendid shall rise.
Refrain.
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