MIRROR of the trackless sky, 
Priestess of its changing mood, 
Ere thy shores were piled on high 
Thou didst feel God?s Spirit brood; 
Thou didst hear His word alone;? 
Be thou still Britannia?s throne. 
 
From thy deeps the creeping things 
Spread through cove and brook and fen, 
Changing scales for soaring wings 
And the mould of mortal men; 
From thy womb the world hath grown! 
Be thou still Britannia?s throne. 
 
Then among the happier ones 
Filing in millennial train, 
Thou didst make us favoured sons, 
Teaching us to rule and reign: 
Thou didst call us for thine own? 
Be thou still Britannia?s throne. 
 
Mighty Mistress, thou didst school 
England?s heart in all thy ways; 
May she learn no nicer rule 
In the ease of after days; 
For the greatness we have known 
Be thou still Britannia?s throne. 
 
For the passion of our plea, 
For the memory of our brave, 
For the fights we fought for thee, 
For the bones that thou dost lave, 
For the love that we have shown! 
Be thou still Britannia?s throne.