No stone of London soon shall stand upon another, 
No son of her throughout the land shall know his brother. 
I will destroy her who is rotten :  from the face 
Of earth shall fail the misbegotten, root and race ; 
And the fair country unto them again I give, 
Whom in long exile men contemn :  for they shall live.” 
Yea, they shall live !  The Celtic race !  Amen !  And I 
Give Praise, and close mine eyes, cover my face, and laugh— 
and die. 
 
 
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