England's on the anvil - hear the hammers ring Clanging from the Severn to the Tyne Never was a blacksmith like our Norman King England's being hammered into line England's on the anvil - heavy are the blows Ordered by the tyrant bastard son Destiny has cursed us with the maker of our woes England's being hammered into one Sorrow for the conquered, wretched is their doom Marshalled from the mountains to the shore Withered in the shadow of the ruthless victor horde Toiling in the silent throes of war England's in the furnace, tempered by the flames Cast into a spiral of decline Grievous is the pounding in this iron-fisted forge England's being fashioned by design 'With bloody sword came he Cold heart and bloody hand Now rule the English land' - Heimskringla England's on the anvil - hear those hammers ring Clanging from the Severn to the Tyne Never was a blacksmith like our Norman King England's being hammered, hammered into line Glowing on the anvil, faithful sons awake Banish this usurper from the throne Furl his sacred standard tight fixed with dragon seal And send it with our blessings back to Rome