The Crown Of Empire

Free is the wind that lashes into foam

The fortress waves that gird the Sea-King’s home

And free the war-worn Flag that is our fame

That fear, nor treason, nor the Storm-God’s might,

Nor the leagued banners of the World can shame

When Britain arms for Honour and the Right.

And free the hearts that on this golden day

Bear willing witness to the Sea-King’s sway:

From world-wide realms washed by the world-wide sea

They turn, O Throne of Freedom, unto Thee.

Homeward they turn from many a lonely place,

Maker of Nations, Mother of the Race,

Homeward to Thee, where, in this solemn hour

Of mightiest Empire, Thou hast called once more

A Royal Son to wield Imperial power

And wear the crown that Saxon Alfred wore—

Sceptre and orb that a great Queen laid down,

Lustrous with wisdom, foremost in renown,

Whilst o’er them shone, all glittering gems above,

The Star of Duty and the Pearl of Love.

Europe is here, and Asia: and the West

Lifts ’mid the throng its dauntless Eagle’s crest.

Lo! They are gathered—prince and peer and lord,

And great ambassadors of mighty States,

And utmost Nations—not with naked sword,

But to do Britain honour in her gates.

The splendour of this large, historic hour,

This dazzling pageant of Imperial power,

Surrounds a King whose proudest boast shall be

The hearts that hail him Emperor of the Free.

O Sire August, within these Abbey walls

To thee the sacred dust of Britain calls

To rule the realm that shook the strength of Spain,

And struck th’ accursèd fetter from the slave—

That tore from Europe’s neck the Despot’s chain,

And, for a pledge of Freedom, o’er the wave

Has set its Flag forever—not alone—

The fairest face that ever graced a throne,

Queen of our Hearts, is with Thee as we sing:—

“An Empire’s love is their’s: God Save the King!”

Unbar your ocean-guarded gates, make wide

Your streets, Imperial City of our Pride!

Hark, with the voice of millions, rolling deep,

The world salutes thee on this Royal morn.

Strong as thine island-rock when surges sweep

Thy throne stands steadfast; round it there is born

The silent vow that prince and peasant make

Ere they go down to death for Freedom’s sake,

And, dying, know sons of their sons will be

As swift to guard the Sceptre of the Sea.

O Pillars of an Empire dwarfing Rome,

From the four corners of the world you come.

The strong Sea-Lion calls around his throne

His ancient heirs, his war-worn younger sons.

Bring Heath and Vine from hills of Southern stone.

And Myrtle, where the twining rata runs,—

Wreaths from our Empire-Garden, where, between

The purple Thistle and the Shamrock green,

The snow-white Lotus by the Maple shows,

The yellow Wattle by the English Rose.

This is a Southern Song blown oversea

From mighty States now linked in unity,—

From that far island continent that lies

Gigantic on the waters, throned, apart,

Robed with the splendour of Australian skies—

First to draw sword, when, with a single heart,

From every frontier line of Empire rose

New Britains armed to meet Britannia’s foes,

Whose voices thunder, as the joy-bells ring

Loud from ten thousand spires: “God Save the King!”