White soul of Englands glory, sovereign star!
Neer shall disaster beat her down, nor shame,
While still she sees thee by the leaping flame
That kindled oer Aboukir, near and far,
Or feels thee quivering through the onsets jar
That filled the North with fear of Englands name,
Or trembles with the joy of all the fame
That died and cast out death at Trafalgar.
Thy name was lightning, and like lightning ay
Thine onset shivered, far and swift and fell:
Ever thy watchword holds us, and wheneer
The fierce Dawn breaks, and far along the sky
Roars the last battle, yet with us tis well
We keep the touch, thy hand and soul are there.
