THE trumpet of the battle Hath a high and thrilling tone; And the first, deep gun of an ocean-fight, Dread music all its own. But a mightier power, my England! Is in that name of thine, To strike the fire from every heart Along the bannered line. Proudly it woke the spirits Of yore, the brave and true, When the bow was bent on Cressy's field, And the yeoman's arrow flew. And proudly hath it floated Through the battles of the sea, When the red-cross flag o'er smoke-wreaths played Like the lightning in its glee. On rock, on wave, on bastion, Its echoes have been known; By a thousand streams the hearts lie low That have answered to its tone. A thousand ancient mountains Its pealing note hath stirred, -- Sound on, and on, for evermore, O thou victorious word! |