Classic Poem

By England's side we stand,
We grasp her royal hand,
And pay her rightful homage through her Son;
Thank God for England's care!
Thank God for Britain's heir!
Our hearts go forth to meet him—we are one.

A loyal Province pours
Her thousands to her shores,
From iron-girt Superior to the sea;
We feel our youthful blood
Surge through us like a flood,
There's not a slave amongst us—we are free.

For none but Freemen know
The truly loyal throe
That gives heroic impulse to the Man—
The passion and the fire,
The chivalrous desire:
Our Fathers all were heroes—in the van.

And we, their ardent sons,
Through whom, triumphant, runs
The old intrepid attribute serene,
Would leave our chosen land,
Our homes, our forests grand,
To strike for England's honour and her Queen.

No soulless welcome we
Dare give to such as thee:
Be thou a bright example to the world;
Great in thy well-earned fame,
Beloved in heart and name,
Wherever Britain's banner is unfurled.

Through all our leafy glades,
Through all our green arcades,
The living torrents, sweeping in, evince
That from their manly hearts
The Yeoman chorus starts:
‘Honour to England's Heir!—long live the Prince!’

Oh, England! in this hour
We own thy sov'reign pow'r;
To thee and thine our best affections cling;
And when thy crown is laid
On Royal Albert's head,
With heart and soul we'll shout—G OD Save THE K ING !