Britons All!

In times of peace, when every wind blows fortune to them still, John Bull and all his kindred disagree, as families will: With wrath and hate in wild debate they shout each other down, And split up into parties for the People and the Crown; But if a foe would part them, he is never long in doubt– It's "Rule Britannia!" only, and they join to throw him out. When the struggle's once begun And the flag aloft is run, We're Britons then and brothers all until that fight is won. Beyond the Cheviots Sandy guards the Scotsman's separate fame: He won't be called an Englishman–he scorns the very name! And Pat across the Channel, in an island of his own, And Taffy, who's a Welshman, would as nations walk alone; Yet all the four shall stand four-square–one party and no more, And that a family party, when a foe is at the door. Scot and Irish there is none, Welsh and English count as one, We're Britons then and brothers all when once the fight's begun. Let Britain in an hour of need her rallying bugle sound– Her sons 'neath Australasian skies, on far Canadian ground, By India's streams or Africa's, shall hear, where'er they roam, And, drawn from all the ends of earth with kindling thoughts of home, Shall arm and answer to the call and come where danger lours To stand beside us in the name that's theirs as well as ours. Side by side shall sire and son Hold the Empire they have won: We're brothers now and Britons all until the fight is done.