So did those feet and bloodied hands,

Ever grace this green and pleasant land?

Did that thorny, regal crown,

Command our mountains and our downs?

 

And did His Countenance Devine,

Ever smile to see our clouded hills?

Did His Holy Heart rejoice,

When it with pagan songs was filled?

 

And were the Dark Satanic Mills,

By His Command, made silent and still?

Did hungry mouths then cry out,

In spiritual satiety’s, silent shout?

 

What golden weapons of desire,

What fiery chariot could fulfil,

The gentle wish of each child’s heart,

And gratify the Devine Will?

 

And so they passed, those days of yore,

And still we demand; we strive for more.

Thus let us build all Temples here,

With heart-felt love and joy sincere.