Cry God
For Harry,
Who rides his steed into the fray
And sweeps the foes of age away;
Who sides with joy and all its trade
And makes it more than it was made;
Who hides no region of his face
And shines for those who are displaced.
Cry God
For England,
Whose age is greater than its years
And credit more than its arrears;
Whose rage has wailed both far and near
And settled more than interfered;
Whose page in history is clear
And read whenever doubt appears.
Cry God
For Saint George,
Whose build embodies our land
From head to foot and iron hand;
Whose will enables us to stand
And be the people we demand;
Who killed the fear of evil’s brand
And leads us to Jerusalem.
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