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| ALL hail, thou noble land, | |
| Our Fathers’ native soil! | |
| O, stretch thy mighty hand, | |
| Gigantic grown by toil, | |
| O’er the vast Atlantic wave to our shore! | 5 |
| For thou with magic might | |
| Canst reach to where the light | |
| Of Phœbus travels bright | |
| The world o’er! | |
| |
| The Genius of our clime | 10 |
| From his pine-embattled steep | |
| Shall hail the guest sublime; | |
| While the Tritons of the deep | |
| With their conchs the kindred league shall proclaim. | |
| Then let the world combine,— | 15 |
| O’er the main our naval line | |
| Like the Milky-Way shall shine | |
| Bright in fame! | |
| |
| Though ages long have past | |
| Since our Fathers left their home, | 20 |
| Their pilot in the blast, | |
| O’er untravelled seas to roam, | |
| Yet lives the blood of England in our veins! | |
| And shall we not proclaim | |
| That blood of honest fame | 25 |
| Which no tyranny can tame | |
| By its chains? | |
| |
| While the language free and bold | |
| Which the bard of Avon sung, | |
| In which our Milton told | 30 |
| How the vault of Heaven rung | |
| When Satan, blasted, fell with his host; | |
| While this, with reverence meet, | |
| Ten thousand echoes greet, | |
| From rock to rock repeat | 35 |
| Round our coast; | |
| |
| While the manners, while the arts, | |
| That mould a nation’s soul, | |
| Still cling around our hearts,— | |
| Between let Ocean roll, | 40 |
| Our joint communion breaking with the Sun: | |
| Yet still from either beach | |
| The voice of blood shall reach, | |
| More audible than speech, | |
| “We are One.” | 45 |
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