Hands that the rod of empire might have sway'd, Or waked to ecstasy the living lyre.

The still small voice of gratitude.

The time will come, when thou shalt lift thine eyes To watch a long-drawn battle in the skies. While aged peasants, too amazed for words, Stare at the flying fleets of wondrous birds.

When love could teach a monarch to be wise, And gospel-light first dawn'd from Bullen's eyes.

We frolic while 'tis May.

England, so long mistress of the sea, Where winds and waves confess her sovereignty, Her ancient triumphs yet on high shall bear And reign the sovereign of the conquered air.

Thought would destroy their paradise.