Give me a sword of light; Give me a lance of fire,
Give me a burnished shield to protect from
Earthly dark desire.
Stand proud upon this English field,
Hold firm against those whose course would have
you yield.
Cast from the harvest of years the bitter husks
of mire-
For England will rise to a new dawn burning
with an inner fire.

Hark to the trumpets fanfare among the drills,
Succour to the breast those that lie on solemn
hills-
That hallowed ground where crosses stand row
on row,
For the wind reaps what man will often sow.
Sow not the stony ground that would this land
into gloomier days drag,
But hold dear the grace, the honour built upon
the Nation’s flag.
Hold firm to faith that we shall return to happier
lands,
And the beacon’s flame of truth will burn once
again o’er this green and pleasant land.