“‘All hail to our King!’ is the shout of the crowd;
I see them, a shadowy throng;
They are loyally free, are respectfully proud,
And Joy to their King is their song.
“Yet bear up, my soul, ’tis a theme of delight,
That thousands hereafter shall sing; 30
How Scotland, and England, and Ireland unite
In their Glory, their Might, and their King.
“Aloud strike the harp, for my bosom is cold
And the sound has a charm on my fears—