III

Therefore deride not Speech of the muses, England my mother, Maker of men.

Nations are mortal, Fragile is greatness; Fortune may fly thee, Song shall not fly.

Song the all-girdling, Song cannot perish: Men shall make music, Man shall give ear.

Not while the choric Chant of creation Floweth from all things, Poured without pause,

Cease we to echo Faintly the descant Whereto for ever Dances the world.