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We live the best in our own land; 



More happy we on our own shore. 

 If foreign paupers we'd withstand^ 



Then England's wealth could keep her poor. 



If blight or mildew check thy- growth, 

 Some fungus spot thy foliage green, 



'Tis ignorance, or 'chance 'tis sloth 



Permits them wound thee, Floral Queen. 



E'en like a goveryinient that's had, 



Whose laws assail us like a frost, 



Whose taxes blight the growth we had, 

 And, unremoved, our country's lost. 



Still, when, in spite of every strain, 



A wondrous Rose unfolds to view. 



And, warmed by sunshine, fed by rain, 

 Proclaims to all a life that's new, 



^Tis like our country plunged in strife. 

 That stirs itself and turns about; 



She stops disaster with new life, 



And puts her envious foes to rout. 



We gaze upon the beauteous Rose, 



Proclaim it as our national flower; 



And every child of England knows 



The glorious emblem of our power. 



We think upon our mighty name. 



Our flag with its historic past ; 

 God grant that we improve its fame, 



And, like the Rose, it, too, may last. 



T. G. W. H. 



