Truth is in thee, and none may win thee to lie, forsaking the face
of truth:
Freedom lives by the grace she gives thee, born again from thy
deathless youth:
Faith should fail, and the world turn pale, wert thou the prey of
the serpent's tooth.

Greed and fraud, unabashed, unawed, may strive to sting thee at
heel in vain:
Craft and fear and mistrust may leer and mourn and murmur and plead
and plain:
Thou art thou: and thy sunbright brow is hers that blasted the
strength of Spain.

Mother, mother beloved, none other could claim in place of thee
England's place:
Earth bears none that beholds the sun so pure of record, so clothed
with grace:
Dear our mother, nor son nor brother is thine, as strong or as fair
of face.

How shalt thou be abased? or how shall fear take hold of thy heart?
of thine,
England, maiden immortal, laden with charge of life and with hopes
divine?
Earth shall wither, when eyes turned hither behold not light in her
darkness shine.

England, none that is born thy son, and lives, by grace of thy
glory, free,