Chant of knight and chant of bowman,
Chant of squire and chant of yeoman:
Kent and Sussex feared no foeman
In the days of long ago!
Hills that heed not Time or weather,
Sussex down and Kentish lane,
Roads that wind through marsh and heather
Feel the mail-shod feet again;
Chalk and flint their dead are giving—
Spectres grim and spectres bold—