Visions Of Glory, Spare My

Ye Towers Of Julius, London's Lasting Shame, With Many A Foul And Midnight Murder Fed.

And Hie Him Home, At Evening's Close, To Sweet Repast And Calm Repose.

Full Many A Gem Of Purest Ray Serene, The Dark Unfathomed Caves Of Ocean Bear.

The Boast Of Heraldry, The Pomp Of Pow'r, And All That Beauty, All That Wealth E'er Gave, Awaits Alike Th' Inevitable Hour. The Paths Of Glory Lead But To The Grave.

Nor Grandeur Hear With A Disdainful Smile The Short And Simple Annals Of The Poor.