The White Cliffs by Alice Duer Miller

And then, and then, I thought of Elizabeth stepping down Over the stones of Plymouth town To welcome her sailors, common men, She herself, as she used to say, Being "mere English" as much as they-- Seafaring men who sailed away From rocky inlet and wooded bay, Free men, undisciplined, uncontrolled, Some of them pirates and all of them bold, Feeling their fate was England's fate, Coming to save it a little late, Much too late for the easy way, Much too late, and yet never quite Too late to win in that last worst fight.

And I thought of Hampden and men like him, St John and Eliot, Cromwell and Pym, Standing firm through the dreadful years, When the chasm was opening, widening, Between the Commons and the King; I thought of the Commons in tears--in tears, When Black Rod knocked at Parliament's door, And they saw Rebellion straight before-- Weeping, and yet as hard as stone, Knowing what the English have always known Since then--and perhaps have known alone-- Something that none can teach or tell-- The moment when God's voice says; "Rebel."