1 From every quarter of your land They give God thanks who turned away Death and the needy madman’s hand, Death-fraught, which menaced you that day. 2 One school of many made to make Men who shall hold it dearest right To battle for their ruler’s sake, And stake their being in the fight, 3 Sends greeting humble and sincere— Though verse be rude and poor and mean— To you, the greatest as most dear— Victoria, by God’s grace Our Queen! 4 Such greeting as should come from those Whose fathers faced the Sepoy hordes, Or served you in the Russian snows, And, dying, left their sons their swords. 5 And some of us have fought for you Already in the Afghan pass— Or where the scarce-seen smoke-puffs flew From Boer marksmen in the grass; 6 And all are bred to do your will By land and sea—wherever flies The Flag, to fight and follow still, And work your Empire’s destinies. 7 Once more we greet you, though unseen Our greeting be, and coming slow. Trust us, if need arise, O Queen, We shall not tarry with the blow!
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