"In my life I have striven to live so worthily that at my death I may
leave but a memory of good works to those who come after me."
Thus Alfred spake, whose days were beads of prayer
Upon the rosary of his royal time,
Who let "I do" wait not upon "I dare,"
Yet both with duty kept in golden chime,
Who, great in victory, greater in defeat,
Greatest in strenuous peace, still suffering, planned
From Ashdown's field to Athelney's lone retreat
Upward for aye to lift his little land.
Therefore the seed of his most fruitful sowing,
A thousand years gone by, on earth and sea,
From slender strength to stately empire growing
Hath given our isle great continents in fee.
For which on Alfred's death-day each true heart
Goes out in praise of his immortal part.