Are you coming?
O Catholic Lion of the North,
With your tawny mane of hair and beard,
In the dark days ahead,
In the midst of a European Crisis,
Of civil war between left and right,
And Isis freely reigning,
North Korean missiles soaring,
American Eagle and Chinese Dragon roaring,
While the Russian bear attacks from the rear,
The Western world shakes with dread and fear,
Bloodshed in Cockerel France,
While Leopard of England is clawed to death,
Water rises and fire spreads,
And the Holy Father imprisoned praying for a miracle,
Where are you Ruadh?
The son of the King of Saxon,
Will you hide in the far West or East?
Or in the southern antipodes like Arthur,
Until you arise in the far North,
To battle of the Birch Tree,
The crescent and the Bear fleeing from your kingly face,
Up goes the cry God for Harry, England and St George once again,
A new Henry the Lion arises from the North,
A South Saxon Duke who like Arthur has trekked,
Into the Arctic and the Antarctic snowy waste,
In service to his fellow man,
A champion of the wounded and damaged soldiers,
And consoler of diseased African youth,
And the son of England’s Rose.
Give up your desire for sparkle and blondes,
Embrace your cross and cross the Tiber,
To your long prophesied destiny,
O sleeping Lion-like Prince of the North.