With the merry Morning Stars,
    It will come! 
With the end of royal wars,
    It will come! 
With the merry Morning Stars,
With the end of royal wars,
With the last of scourging Tsars,
    It will come! 
    It will come!

Yea!  An angel from the fight,
    It will come! 
With fair Liberty in light,
    It will come! 
Yea!  An angel from the fight,
With fair Liberty in light,
Linked with Everlasting Right,
    It will come! 
    It will come!

By the Christ who hears our cries,
  It will come! 
By the Spirit of the Skies,
  It will come! 
By the Christ who hears our cries,
By the Spirit of the Skies,
By the God who never lies,
  It will come! 
  It will come!

With a place for you and me,
    It will come! 
At the feastings of the Free,
    It will come! 
With a place for you and me,
At the feastings of the Free,
With eternal Jubilee,
    It will come! 
    It will come!

BIRD OF THE SUMMERING NORTH.

Bird of the summering North,
  Whither away? 
Fly you so gaily forth
  Simply to stay
Nested in northern bowers
Till the late flushing flowers
Turn in October hours
  Ashen and gray?

Bear, then, this message, Dove,
  When you depart,
Safe to my northern Love,
  Quick!  Like a dart! 
Bill her and coo her this
Seal of triumphant bliss,
One young, immortal kiss,
  Hot from my heart.

Then, in the autumn time,
  Tailing the pole,
From my Love’s cooling clime
  Make me your goal;
Flash to this field of Fame,
Linked with her darling name,
All her concordant flame,
  Deep from her soul.

THE WAR SONG OF WILLIAM THE CONQUEROR.

"By the splendor of God!” was a characteristic oath of William the Conqueror.

By the splendor of God!  We come!  We come! 
  To fight to the death for Old England’s crown,
  To reign by God’s grace or in gore go down. 
By the splendor of God!  We come!  We come! 
  Sword in hand, by a King who dares
    To fight that God and our Right be made
    Our Right Divine by a bloody blade,
  Sword in hand, by a King who dares,
    By a King who dares.

By the splendor of God!  We come!  We come! 
  In swoop for fierce flesh, like a bird of prey,
  In scent of the blood of the brave to-day,
By the splendor of God!  We come!  We come! 
  Sword in hand, for the Love of God! 
    Since blood is holy and royal wine,
    Advance!  Drink health to the Norman line,
  Sword in hand, for the Love of God! 
    For the Love of God!

By the splendor of God!  We come!  We come! 
  Beware of the shock of the serried rank! 
  Beware of the brand of the fiery Frank! 
By the splendor of God!  We come!  We come! 
  Sword in hand, by the Grace of God,
   We fight till death for Old England’s crown,
   Till Harold, or We, with our crowns, go down,
  Sword in hand, by the Grace of God! 
    By the Grace of God!