A hundred toilsome years have rolled in vain

Since one proud eagle drooped his shattered wings:

Another rises -- and the welkin rings

With the mad cry "For Glory" once again!

And legions rush through carnage to attain

Some fancied good that blood-stained Conquest brings.

Is this the boast of Councils and of Kings,

O God! to triumph over millions' pain?

Guardians of Good! Ye Nations of the West!

Shall mind still worship brute Force deified?

'Tis Mind not Force doth Nations' worth attest:

Force died with Rome -- high Thought hath outlived Greece!

Be thine, O England! thine the nobler pride

To win true Glory with the arts of Peace!