By shamrock, leek and thistle
We know the Celtic tribes,
Saints Andrew, Patrick, David,
They have their several scribes.
In Gaelic, Erse and Cymric
They chant their patrons' praise,
And wear with pride their emblems
Upon the festive days.
But English on St. George’s Day
Do seldom wear the Rose,
Though still in many an English heart
The ancient passion glows.
The red cross flies for Shakespeare,
The red cross flies for George,
While yet the soul of England
Is hammered on the forge;
But when the soul of England
Arise from present gloom,
That Rose in resurrection
Shall blaze in brighter bloom.
On this St. George’s Day, then,
That saw our Shakespeare born,
The Rose is rooted in our hearts -
And we can bear the thorn.
