Land of Hope and Glory

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Land of Hope and Glory, Mother of the Free,
How shall we extol thee, who are born of thee?
Wider still and wider shall thy bounds be set;
God, who made thee mighty, make thee mightier yet,
God, who made thee mighty, make thee mightier yet.

"Land of Hope and Glory" is a British patriotic song, with music by Edward Elgar and lyrics by A. C. Benson, written in 1902.

Contents

Composition

The music to which the words of the refrain "Land of Hope and Glory, &c" [1] below are set is the "trio" theme from Edward Elgar's Pomp and Circumstance March No. 1.[2] The words were fitted to the melody on the suggestion of King Edward VII who told Elgar he thought the melody would make a great song. When Elgar was requested to write a work for the King's coronation, he worked the suggestion into his Coronation Ode, for which he asked the poet and essayist A. C. Benson to write the words.[2] The last section of the Ode uses the march's melody.

Due to the King's illness, the coronation was postponed. Elgar created a separate song, which was first performed by Madame Clara Butt in June 1902. In fact, only the first of the seven stanzas of the Ode's final section was re-used, as the first four lines of the second stanza below. This stanza is the part which is popularly sung today.

Lyrics

Solo
    Dear Land of Hope, thy hope is crowned,
       God make thee mightier yet !
    On Sov'ran[3] brows, beloved, renowned,
       Once more thy crown is set.
   Thine equal laws, by Freedom gained,
       Have ruled thee well and long ;
   By Freedom gained, by Truth maintained,
       Thine Empire shall be strong.

Chorus
            Land of Hope and Glory, Mother of the Free,
            How shall we extol thee, who are born of thee?
            Wider still and wider shall thy bounds be set;
            God, who made thee mighty, make thee mightier yet,
            God, who made thee mighty, make thee mightier yet.

Solo
    Thy fame is ancient as the days,
       As Ocean large and wide :
    A pride that dares, and heeds not praise,
       A stern and silent pride ;
    Not that false joy that dreams content
       With what our sires have won ;
    The blood a hero sire hath spent
       Still nerves a hero son.

Chorus

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