I

A thousand years have passed away, Cast back your glances on the scene, Compare this England of to-day With England as she once has been.

Fast beat the pulse of living then: The hum of movement, throb of war, The rushing mighty sound of men Reverberated loud and far.

They girt their loins up and they trod The path of danger, rough and high; For Action, Action was their god, “Be up and doing” was their cry.

A thousand years have passed away; The sands of life are running low; The world is sleeping out her day; The day is dying--be it so.

A thousand years have passed amain; The sands of life are running thin; Thought is our leader--Thought is vain; Speech is our goddess--Speech is sin.