
I dwell in this land that is far away and safe.
Son, why can't you see what England means to me?
I who have been nurtured in this Canadian space,
yet long to be in England free.
You'll never understand what London means,
nor why the Abbey looms there grand;
nor why in spring I dream of an English May;
but I do, being born in the motherland.
Son, there's a heritage in English blood,
and her voice calls my heart across the sea.
The blood of England pulses in my veins,
and all her traditional ways are dear to me.
My ancestors once died on British fields,
such a bold heritage I bid you heed;
for in my veins there runs the blood of men,
who fought the tyrant King at Runnymede.
There upon the Avon, that I've often seen,
the man named Shakespeare wrote his words for me.
And here in these worried, troubled days,
I share in Masefield's journeys to the seas.
I know them all, the moors, the hedged in lanes,
the nightingale that sings it's heart away.
The coppice where as a child I gathered nuts,
the Lark, sweet singing at the break of day.
England is the Mother to all her sons,
let's speak good of her, drink her health in wine.
Know her great traditions and follow her lead;
my soul is England's and her life is mine.