We walked through England’s dappled lanes,

With steady hands and sharpened eyes.

And did we guard, through storms and strains,

The truths no progress can disguise?

And through the hearth a sacred light,

Where duty warmed the heart of man.

We held, through wrong and right,

The quiet strength that shaped this land.

Bring not the fires of rage and haste,

Nor idols cast in silicon.

But plant again with care and grace

The roots we feared were dead and gone.

We have known a nobler pace,

A gentler air, a deeper tone.

Where honour met us face to face,

And thought was wrought in flesh and stone.

No need for swords nor banners high,

No tarnished drums, or shouted claim,

But give us space beneath the sky

To live with meaning, not with fame.

A weather for the soul to grow,

For children’s dreams, and poets’ pen.

Not soft, but still, a warming glow,

A land for free and gentle men.

Let towers rise, let engines turn,

Let futures bloom from fields and wire,

But let the heart still feel and yearn,

And tend the ancient, steady fire.

Then shall our Britain live once more,

Not bound to past, nor blind to fate,

But standing firm with open door,

Both ancient strong, and future great.