YOU are at least a Man, of men a King. You have a heart, and with that heart you love. The race you come from is not gendered of The filthy sty whose latest litter cling Round England's flesh-pots, gorged hogs gluttoning. No, but on flaming battlefields, in courts Of honour and of danger old resorts,
The name of Hohen-Zollern clear doth ring. O Father William, you, not falsely weak, Who never spared the rod to spoil the child, Our mighty Germany, we only speak, To bless you with a blessing sweet and mild, Ere that near heaven your weary footsteps seek Where love with liberty is reconciled.