While men pay reverence to mighty things, br They must revere thee, thou blue-cinctured isle br Of England-not to-day, but this long while br In front of nations, Mother of great kings, br Soldiers, and poets. Round thee the sea flings br His steel-bright arm, and shields thee from the guile br And hurt of France. Secure, with august smile, br Thou sittest, and the East its tribute brings. br Some say thy old-time power is on the wane, br Thy moon of grandeur, filled, contracts at length- br They see it darkening down from less to less.