Through Western lands in days of old
Rivers clear and sparkling flowed
Through channels dug by Apostles and Disciples bold,
And their head was found at God’s own throne.
Along these streams Christian kingdoms sprang,
And for many years bore good fruit.
But through carelessness of soul
And craftiness of Foe
Guilefully working through bishops, princes, monks,
The bright waters were darkened and defiled
And in time ceased to flow at all.
The lovely Tree o’ the Cross by Apostles planted
Was either hewed or left untended,
But the new shrines of Mammon
Could in no wise be offended.
Yet as lands of Occident have grown parched
And insanity has descended on their folk,
Having made their home in concrete Babylons,
Th’ old channels are slowly ope’d again by men of Orient.
But has Western man become too proud to kneel,
Too rational and hygienic
To let his body touch the dirt of ground
To reach that blessèd drink?
Holy Ælfred the Great, King of England, South Patron, pray for us sinners at the Souð, unworthy though we are!
Anathema to the Union!