('Their webs shall not become garments, neither shall they cover themselves with their works; their works are works of iniquity, and the act of violence is in their hands.' —Isaiah 59,6.) The dark eleventh hour Draws on and sees us sold To every evil power We fought against of old. Rebellion, rapine, hate, Oppression, wrong and greed Are loosed to rule our fate, By England’s act and deed. The Faith in which we stand, The laws we made and guard, Our honour, lives, and land Are given for reward To Murder done by night, To Treason taught by day, To folly, sloth, and spite, And we are thrust away. The blood our fathers spilt, Our love, our toils, our pains, Are counted us for guilt, And only bind our chains. Before an Empire’s eyes The traitor claims his price. What need of further lies? We are the sacrifice. We asked no more than leave To reap where we had sown, Through good and ill to cleave To our own flag and throne. Now England’s shot and steel Beneath that flag must show How loyal hearts should kneel To England’s oldest foe. We know the war prepared On every peaceful home, We know the hells declared For such as serve not Rome— The terror, threats, and dread In market, hearth, and field— We know, when all is said. We perish if we yield. Believe, we dare not boast, Believe, we do not fear We stand to pay the cost In all that men hold dear. What answer from the North? One Law, one Land, one Throne If England drive us forth We shall not fall alone.