Thou grand old Church of England!
Though others raise their voice,
And try to stain thy spotless name,
Thou still shall be my choice;
Just as thou art, I love thee thus,
And freely I confess,
I'd have thee not one jot the more,
Nor yet one tittle less.

Those who would rob thee of thy rights,
And urge with specious tongue,
That theft by Act of Parliament
Can surely not be wrong.
I'd have them leave thy sheltering wing,
And nevermore to dare
To stand within thy courts of praise,
Or taint thy house of prayer.

Oh! dear old Church of England,
That points the way to Heaven!
Amid a sad, sad world of sin
The truly, only leaven.
We leave thee to our Father's care,
Who knows thy needs the best,
Convinced that He, by aid of thee,
Will leaven all the rest.