For always roaming with a hungry heart.
The song that nerves a nation's heart is in itself a deed.
A smile abroad is often a scowl at home.
An English homegrey twilight poured On dewy pasture, dewy trees, Softer than sleepall things in order stored, A haunt of ancient Peace.
Music that gentlier on the spirit lies, Than tired eyelids upon tired eyes.
Ring out old shapes of foul disease, Ring out the narrowing lust of gold; Ring out the thousand wars of old, Ring in the thousand years of peace.