I

MOTHER of five mighty nations,
on her island throne she sits serene,
She who in her right hand proudly
wields the sceptre of the Ocean Queen.
Over continents and islands
flies her ocean-ruling flag unfurled:
Unto all her roaring markets
flows the streaming trade of half the world.
Still the vigour of her children, -
courses thro' her Empire's every part,
Still the Titan pulse of Empire
throbs for ever at her mighty heart.
Still triumphant, still unfearing,
goes she ever on her conquering way;
Hers the hope of young To-morrow,
hers the glorious promise of To-day.
Hers the laurels of Trafalgar -
hers the deathless fame of Waterloo;
Hers the boon that builds up Empire -
strong men's hearts to queen and country true.

II

Onward, onward, sons of England,
ever slaying evil, bringing good,
Hewing down the ghastly fetish
from its altar black with human blood;
Conquering fever-swamp and jungle;
Staying not tho' Death stand face to face:
Peace and plenty following ever
on the footsteps of the English race.
Onward, onward, sons of Britain,
onward by the same old glorious way,
Owning still that dogged courage
that can hold the banded world at bay.
Looking backward thro' the ages
on an unstained history's spotless page,
Knowing that the name of Briton
is the wide world's proudest heritage.