Songs Of The Road

God save England, blessed by Fate, So old, yet ever young: The acorn isle from which the greatImperial oak has sprung!And God guard Scotland's kindly soil, The land of stream and glen, The granite mother that has bredA breed of granite men!God save Wales, from Snowdon's valesTo Severn's silver strand!For all the grace of that old raceStill haunts the Celtic land.And, dear old Ireland, God save you, And heal the wounds of old, For every grief you ever knewMay joy come fifty-fold