They have wrestled their thews with the Arctic bear,
With tireless moose they’ve trod;
They have drained heel-deep of a fighting air,
And breasted the winds of God.
They have stretched their beds in the hummocked snow,
They have set their teeth to the Pole;
With Death they have gamed it, throw for throw,
And drunk with him bowl for bowl—
They are all for thee, O England!

In their birch canoes they have run cloud-high,
On the crest of a nor’land storm;
They have soaked the sea, and have braved the sky,
And laughed at the Conqueror Worm.
They reck not beast and they fear no man,
They have trailed where the panther glides;
On the edge of a mountain barbican,
They have tracked where the reindeer hides—
And these are for thee, O England!

They have freed your flag where the white Pole-Star
Hangs out its auroral flame;
Where the bones of your Franklin’s heroes are
They have honoured your ancient name.
And, iron in blood and giant in girth,
They have stood for your title-deed
Of the infinite North, and your lordly worth,
And your pride and your ancient greed—
And for love of thee, O England!