Brothers And Sisters, I Bid

Gardens Are Not Made By Singing 'oh, How Beautiful,' And Sitting In The Shade.

All We Have Of Freedom All We Use Or Know This Our Fathers Bought For Us Long And Long Ago

If England Was What England Seems, An Not The England Of Our Dreams, But Only Putty, Brass, An' Paint, 'ow Quick We'd Chuck 'er! But She Ain't!

We Have Forty Million Reasons For Failure, But Not A Single Excuse.

Teach Us Delight In Simple Things, And Mirth That Has No Bitter Springs.