4^ 



Bring golden grain from sun and air, 

 From earth her goodly roots. 



There let our banners droop and flow. 



The stars uprise and fall ; 

 Our roll of martyrs, sad and slow. 



Let sighing breezes call. 



Their names let hands of horn and tan 

 And rough- shod feet applaud, 



Who died to make the slave a man, 

 And give to toil reward. 



There let the common heart keep time 



To such an anthem sung, 

 As never swelled on poet s rhyme, 



Or thrilled on singer's tongue. 



A song of burden and relief. 



Of peace and long annoy; 

 The passion of our mighty grief 



And our exceeding joy ! 



A song of praise to Him who filled 

 The harvests sown in tears ; 



And gave each field a double yield 

 To feed our battle-years ! 



A song of faith that He will end 



The work so well begun, 

 Break every cord of caste, and blend 



Our peoples into one ! 



