Classic Poem

Ye mariners of England
That guard our native seas,
Whose flag has braved a thousand years
The battle and the breeze,
Your glorious standard launch again
To match a modern foe,
And fly through the sky
While the stormy winds do blow —
While the navies grapple in the blue,
And the stormy winds do blow.

The spirits of your fathers
May start from every wave,
For oak decks were their field of fame
And ocean was their grave.
But now where Phaeton once fell
Your manly hearts shall glow,
While you fare through the air
As the stormy winds do blow —
While the navies grapple in the blue
And the stormy winds do blow.

Britannia needs no bulwarks;
Her towers are out of date.
Now far above the mountain waves
Her warriors aviate.
With thunders from her aeroplanes
She quells the foreign foe;
And they lunge and they plunge,
While the stormy winds do blow —
While the navies grapple in the blue
And the stormy winds do blow.