Take, O star of all our seas, from not an alien hand,
⁠Homage paid of song bowed down before thy glory's face,
Thou the living light of all our lovely stormy strand,
⁠Thou the brave north-country's very glory of glories, Grace.

Loud and dark about the lighthouse rings and glares the night;
⁠Glares with foam-lit gloom and darkling fire of storm and spray,
Rings with roar of winds in chase and rage of waves in flight,
⁠Howls and hisses as with mouths of snakes and wolves at bay.