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.