II

England, queen of the waves whose green inviolate girdle enrings
thee round,
Mother fair as the morning, where is now the place of thy foemen
found?
Still the sea that salutes us free proclaims them stricken,
acclaims thee crowned.

Times may change, and the skies grow strange with signs of treason
and fraud and fear:
Foes in union of strange communion may rise against thee from far
and near:
Sloth and greed on thy strength may feed as cankers waxing from
year to year.

Yet, though treason and fierce unreason should league and lie and
defame and smite,
We that know thee, how far below thee the hatred burns of the sons
of night,
We that love thee, behold above thee the witness written of life in
light.

Life that shines from thee shows forth signs that none may read not
but eyeless foes:
Hate, born blind, in his abject mind grows hopeful now but as
madness grows:
Love, born wise, with exultant eyes adores thy glory, beholds and
glows.