From Clee to heaven the beacon burns, 
The shires have seen it plain, 
From north and south the sign returns 
And beacons burn again. 

Look left, look right, the hills are bright, 
The dales are light between, 
Because 'tis fifty years to-night 
That God has saved the Queen. 

Now, when the flame they watch not towers 
About the soil they trod, 
Lads, we'll remember friends of ours 
Who shared the work with God. 

To skies that knit their heartstrings right, 
To fields that bred them brave, 
The saviours come not home to-night: 
Themselves they could not save. 

It dawns in Asia, tombstones show 
And Shropshire names are read; 
And the Nile spills his overflow 
Beside the Severn's dead. 

We pledge in peace by farm and town 
The Queen they served in war, 
And fire the beacons up and down 
The land they perished for. 

"God save the Queen" we living sing, 
From height to height 'tis heard; 
And with the rest your voices ring, 
Lads of the Fifty-third. 

Oh, God will save her, fear you not: 
Be you the men you've been, 
Get you the sons your fathers got, 
And God will save the Queen.