Читать книгу Songs of love and empire - Эдит Несбит - Страница 6

Lady and Queen, for whom our laurels twine,

Upon whose head the glories of our land

In one immortal diadem are met,

Embodied England, in whose woman-hand

The sceptre of Imperial sway is set,

Receive this song of mine!

For you are England, and her bays grow green

To deck your brow, your goodness lends her grace,

And in our hearts your face is as Her face;

The Mother-Country is the Mother-Queen.

We, men of England, children of her might,

With all our Mother’s record-roll of glory,

Great with her greatness, noble by her name,

Drank with our mothers’ milk our Mother’s story,

And in our veins the splendour of her fame

Made strong our blood and bright;

And to her absent sons her name has been

Familiar music heard in distant lands,