Lord Alfred Tennyson

And oft I heard the tender dove
In firry woodlands making moan.

And oft I heard the tender dove
In firry woodlands making moan.

We keep the day. With festal cheer,
With books and music, surely we
Will drink to him, read more

We keep the day. With festal cheer,
With books and music, surely we
Will drink to him, whate'er he be,
And sing the songs he loved to hear.

Our echoes roll from soul to soul,
And grow for ever and for ever.
Blow, bugle, blow, read more

Our echoes roll from soul to soul,
And grow for ever and for ever.
Blow, bugle, blow, set the wild echoes flying,
And answer, echoes, answer, dying, dying, dying.

Not once or twice in our rough island story,
The path of duty was the way to glory.

Not once or twice in our rough island story,
The path of duty was the way to glory.

He who says what he likes, must hear what he does not like.

He who says what he likes, must hear what he does not like.