Джеральд Масси (Gerald Massey)

England Goes to Battle

NOW, glory to our England,
    As she rises, calm and grand,
With the ancient spirit in her eyes,—
    The good Sword in her hand!
Our royal right on battle-ground,
    Was aye to bear the brunt:
Ho! brave heart! for one passionate bound,
    And take thy place in front!
Now glory to our England,
    As she rises, calm and grand,
With the ancient spirit in her eyes—
    The good Sword in her hand!

Who would not fight for England?
    Who would not fling a life
I' the ring, to meet a Tyrant's gage,
    And glory in the strife?
Her stem is thorny, but doth burst
    A glorious Rose a-top!
And shall our dear Rose wither?   First
    We'll drain life's dearest drop!
Who would not fight for England?
    Who would not fling a life
I' the ring, to meet a Tyrant's gage,
    And glory in the strife?

To battle goes our England,
    All as gallant and as gay
As Lover to the Altar, on
    A merry marriage-day.
A weary night she stood to watch
    The battle-dawn up-roll'd;
And her spirit leaps within, to match
    The noble deeds of old.
To battle goes our England,
    All as gallant and as gay
As Lover to the Altar, on
    A merry marriage-day.

Now, fair befall our England,
    On her proud and perilous road;
And woe and wail to those who make
    Her foot-prints red with blood!
Up with our red-cross banner—roll
    A thunder-peal of drums!
Fight on there, every valiant soul,
    And courage!   England comes!
Now, fair befall our England,
    On her proud and perilous road:
And woe and wail to those who make
    Her foot-prints red with blood!

Now, victory to our England!
    And where'er she lifts her hand
In Freedom's fight, to rescue Right,
    God bless the dear Old Land!
And when the Storm has pass'd away,
    In glory and in calm,
May she sit down, i' the green o' the day,
    And sing her peaceful psalm!
Now, victory to our England!
    And where'er she lifts her hand
In Freedom's fight, to rescue Right,
    God bless the dear Old Land!

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