18th May.
Hail, princes of the earth that guard the fame And heritage of peoples; ye that glow With precious ointment, scatheless of our blame And careless of our blessing here below!
We hail ye, O Exalted, ere we die For an idea deathless as a star Amid the night, Increase and multiply, O broods that swell man's burden!
Armed for war Against the weak and desperate are ye The bayonets that burgeon by your thrones Seem thorns to bind the brows of Liberty, Yet have no sting for tyrants. He that owns The Hellespont may, by your grace, soon use The Parthenon for shambles or for mews
Text read from the printed page and cleaned; old type leaves the occasional error.