From kings of men
We wander; then
We’re quickly brought
To kings of though,
For poets lie
Interred hard by.
Here, too, repose
The bones of those
Who fought the foe
Long, long ago.
Brave knights were they;
And in the fray
They kept from shame
The English name,

And proved in fight
Great Britain’s might.
Where they are laid
Their rest is made
As sweet as prayer
By music rare:
Over their head
The sleeping dead
Can daily hear
The anthem clear
Floating along
Like angel’s song,
Until it dies
Like angel’s sighs.