Hugh J. Evans - A St. George's Day Sonnet lyrics

And here where throbs, amid a silent waste, A myriad-hammer'd hum, whose Siren sound Is heard re-echoing the world around, Luring with golden hope who hither haste, Guided by Fortune or by Furies chased, To lose again such riches as they found, While still the patient worker wins the ground Where a new nation's future life is based,-- Even here is heard a voice to swell the praise Of thy loved England, who did mother thee And thy world-moving human pageantry; Of thee, too, on whose glorious brow the bays Will yet be green when, in dim æons to come, Poets that sing of England will be dumb.