Beasts of England, Beasts of Ireland, 
Beasts of every land and clime, 
Hearken to my joyful tidings 
Of the Golden future time. 

Soon or late the day [bad word]  
Tyrant Man shall be o'er thrown, 
And the [bad word] fields of England 
Shall be trod by beasts alone. 

Rings shall vanish from our noses, 
And the harness from our back, 
Bit and spur [bad word] forever, 
 [bad word] whips no more shall crack. 

Riches more than mind can picture, 
Wheat and barley, oats and hay, 
Clover, beans and mangel-wurzels 
Shall be ours upon that day. 

Bright will shine the fields of England, 
Purer shall its waters be, 
Sweeter yet shall blow its breezes 
On the day that sets us free. 

For that day we all must labour, 
Though we die before it break; 
Cows and horses, geese and turkeys, 
All must toil for freedom's sake. 

Beasts of England, Beasts of Ireland, 
Beasts of every land and clime, 
Hearken to my joyful tidings 
Of the Golden future time.