Poetry Archives

A Tribute To The Policemen Of England’s Capital


Here in my cosy corner,
   Before a blazing log,
I’m thinking of cold London
   Wrapped in its killing fog;
And, like a shining beacon
   Above the picture grim,
I see the London ‘Bobby,’
   And sing my song for him.

I see his stalwart figure,
   I see his kindly face,
I hear his helpful answer
   At any hour or place.
For, though you seek some by-way
   Long miles from his own beat,
He tells you all about it,
   And how to find the street.

He looks like some bold Viking,
   This king of earth’s police—
Yet in his voice lies feeling,
   And in his eye lies peace;
He knows and does his duty—
   (What higher praise is there?)
And London’s lords and paupers
   Alike receive his care.

He has a regal bearing,
   Yet one that breathes repose;
It is the look and manner
   Of one who THINKS and KNOWS.
Oh, men who govern nations,
   In old worlds or in new,
Turn to the London ‘Bobby’
   And learn a thing or two.