The Song Of The Greatest Isle Poem by Cicely Fox Smith

A health to our soldiers and sailors true
That guard Britannia's throne;
To England under the southern blue,
To the flag that the English own.
To the honoured names of our English dead;
To our Empire's strong-built pile;
To the men that have girded the earth with red,
To the sons of the Greatest Isle!

There's never a nook on the wide world's face
But with her fame has rung,
And the farthest home of the farthest race
Has heard the English tongue.
Where the white bear roams and the Pole-star gleams,
Where the tropic islets smile,
Where the dank, dim plain in the noonglare steams,
Sleep the sons of the Greatest Isle!

And ever it's over the seas away
In the teeth of a whistling wind,
Full steam ahead thro' the smoking spray,
With the bonny, brave Isle behind.
Go forth, go forth, on the forward track,
O'er the ocean many a mile,
Thro' the Southern sands and the Polar pack! -
And here's to the Greatest Isle!