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That which never
To men has bowed Shall live ever
To shame the shroud: Shall live ever
To face the foe; Sever it, sever,
And with one blow.
Be it written,
That all I wrought Was for Britain,
In deed and thought: Be it written,
That, while I die, "Glory to Britain!"
Is my last cry.
"Glory to Britain!"
Death echoes me round. Glory to Britain !
The world shall resound. Glory to Britain!
In ruin and fall, Glory to Britain !
Is heard over all.'
��Burn, Sun, down the sea! Bran lies low with thee.
Burst, Morn, from the main! Bran so shall rise again.
�� �
