Not backward through the grandeur of past years, Renown of

monarchs dead or pageants played, Shall turn our eyes when the new King appears In stateliest pomp arrayed, His royal throne by world-wide pillars stayed, But strain towards that future dark and dumb Wherein God's hand is moulding things to come.

Unto this people He bath given power, Dominion past imagining, so great That they have trembled in their mightiest hour, Fearing lest soon or late

Blind human strength must fall beneath such fate ; Though they bestrode the world, they could not guess When Time should bring their pride to humbleness. The gulf of Time, whence all proud things have sprung,

And into which all dead things have descended,

The womb and tomb for Empires old and young Which left Earth scarred or splendid

Receives all glory grown and glory ended ; And one brief breed of men does nothing, save Boldly to hold ambitions high and brave.

This much we know: the pillared Throne that stands Majestic o'er five continents is built On liberty, and honour's high commands,

Nor propped by greed and guilt,

So that we pray, "Deal with us as Thou wilt.

Yet grant, whate'er may perish, we shall prize The truth which in Time's ravage never dies."

In that vast sepulchre of vanished things,

The burial-place of majesty forgot, Where barren dust is stirred by withered wings, And hope and fame are not, But rags and shreds discarded lie and rot,

All that is false and vain is mouldering there,

But truth and right rise quickened everywhere.

We British folk are many nations, thrown O'er many lands across the thundering sea; One flag, one fealty, one king we own, And in one hope may we

Go onward; none may read in destiny; And yet our living work shall still endure, By prayer made resolute, by faith made sure.