Colin F. Jones


We blow our horns and gallop o’er the fields,
Release the Hounds until the fox doth yield
And count the fox’s pain as our great thrill,
For we are free to do as what we will!
For freedom is as death is to the fox,
By effort earned but earned by its own loss.
‘Tis always best the nation one defends,
Though on a dozen others it depends.
All our freedoms are not freedoms long,
For all men to their inner ills belong,
For what they challenge in the world to gain,
But brings with every victory greater pain.
We all possess what we travel miles to find,
But in our ignorance leave it far behind.