John Simpson

“ Awake the lyre, and sing the song of peace!
The enmities of yore,
Entomb for evermore;
Of ancient discord let there be surcease!
Although a thousand years have run their race,
Since royal Alfred struggled with the Dane,
A king who can from Alfred clearly trace
His lineage doth now in England reign;
The throne of England, having for its wall
The full consent of freemen, cannot fall.
A hundred thrones are low.
But it doth stronger grow;
Ye sons of England, let your voices rise
In thanks for Heaven's aid;
Though realms arise and fade.
The ancient realm of England never dies. ”

“ The lot of earthly things is but to die,
And naught but Heaven's power ever stays
The hand of dread Destruction in its course;
The earth is Heaven's footstool, and the might
Of earthly nations shrivels, when the blight
Of Heaven's wrath doth touch them with its force.
The British Empire, to continue, must
To Heaven give the glory, not to man;
All ancient empires fell beneath the ban
Of Heaven, and their courses quickly ran;
The British Empire must in Heaven trust,
Or, like proud Babylon, be levelled with the dust.
IV.
Ye Britons, wake your country's lyre! ”

“ They tread the earth no longer, but their clear,
Heart-stirring voices countless thousands hear;
Their souls are with us; still their thoughts career
Throughout the earth, as when, with thoughts on fire.
They struck inspiring notes upon their country's lyre. ”