Providence has given to the French the empire of the land, to the
English that of the sea, to read more

Providence has given to the French the empire of the land, to the
English that of the sea, to the Germans that of--the air!

Be England what she will,
With all her faults, she is my country still.

Be England what she will,
With all her faults, she is my country still.

Ah! the perfidious English!
[Fr., Ah! la perfide Angleterre!]

Ah! the perfidious English!
[Fr., Ah! la perfide Angleterre!]

England with all thy faults, I love thee still--
My country! and, while yet a nook is left
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England with all thy faults, I love thee still--
My country! and, while yet a nook is left
Where English minds and manners may be found,
Shall be constrained to love thee.

Those pigmy tribes of Panton street,
Those hardy blades, those hearts of oak,
Obedient to a tyrant's read more

Those pigmy tribes of Panton street,
Those hardy blades, those hearts of oak,
Obedient to a tyrant's yoke.

Britannia needs no bulwarks
No towers along the steep;
Her march is o'er the mountain wave,
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Britannia needs no bulwarks
No towers along the steep;
Her march is o'er the mountain wave,
Her home is on the deep.

'Tis a glorious charter, deny it who can,
That's breathed in the words, "I'm an Englishman."

'Tis a glorious charter, deny it who can,
That's breathed in the words, "I'm an Englishman."

Where are the rough brave Britons to be found
With Hearts of Oak, so much of old renowned?

Where are the rough brave Britons to be found
With Hearts of Oak, so much of old renowned?

Oh, to be in England,
Now that April's there,
And whoever wakes in England
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Oh, to be in England,
Now that April's there,
And whoever wakes in England
Sees some morning, unaware,
That the lowest boughs and the brushwood sheaf,
Round the elm-tree bole are in tiny leaf
While the chaffinch sings on the orchard bough
In England--now.