Coming

In every noble name
What are we waiting for?
We pray, and we declaim!
Are we afraid of war?
Drummer, beat the drum!
Trumpets, blow!
Anguished voices bid us come!
At last we go!

Shall Europe cry "God speed!"
To some less famous land?
Nay; who shall take the lead,
If England holds her hand?

Proud? We should be proud!
Drummer, beat the drum!
Anguished voices call aloud,
"England, come!"

Upon the blood-stained sod
A helpless people bow;
We still have stood for God,
And shall we falter now?
The sword is in our hand;
Our step is on the sea;
We are coming, sister land,
To set you free!