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Malta

The only peace and comfort,
Prayers by day and night,
Not for themselves, nor for their kin,
But England’s son who fight.
Their dampened spirits linger on,
As fire and hell prolong,
Their island homes are but a wreck,
And yet they live in song.

Straining, heedless of the storm,
Their daily task is done,
Simple, but inspired by all,
A job that’s never won,
Their eyes are turned towards a land,
The mother of the free,
Where peace and comfort will be found,
To free a darkened memory.

Thus honour, praise and glory,
Bestowed upon the folk,
The gallant fear yet defy,
The tyrants of their ‘yoke’,
Lives and homes they sacrifice,
Their prayers for me and you,
To Malta, owes the Empire,
A debt to those silent few.

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