A Tribute To The Policemen Of Englands Capital

Here in my cosy corner, 
 Before a blazing log, 
I?m thinking of cold London
 Wrapped in its killing fog; 
And, like a shining beacon
 Above the picture grim, 
I see the London `Bobby, ?
 And sing my song for him.

I see his stalwart figure, 
 I see his kindly face, 
I hear his helpful answer
 At any hour or place.
For, though you seek some by-way
 Long miles from his own beat, 
He tells you all about it, 
 And how to find the street.

He looks like some bold Viking, 
 This king of earth?s police ?
Yet in his voice lies feeling, 
 And in his eyes lies peace; 
He knows and does his duty ?
 (What higher praise is there?) 
And London?s lords and paupers
 Alike receive his care.

He has a regal bearing, 
 Yet one that breathes repose; 
It is the look and manner
 Of one who thinks and knows.
Oh, men who govern nations, 
 In old worlds or new, 
Turn to the London `Bobby?
 And learn a thing or two.