III
Lead out the pageant, sad and slow,
As fits a universal woe;
Let the long, long procession go,
And let the sorrowing crowd about it grow,
And let the mournful martial music blow;
The last great Englishman is low.
Lead out the pageant, sad and slow,
As fits a universal woe;
Let the long, long procession go,
And let the sorrowing crowd about it grow,
And let the mournful martial music blow;
The last great Englishman is low.