  God bless our wide Dominion, Our fathers’ chosen land, And bind in lasting union, Each ocean’s distant strand, From where Atlantic terrors Our hardy seamen train, To where the salt sea mirrors The vast Pacific chain. Our sires when times were sorest Asked none but aid Divine, And cleared the tangled forest, And wrought the buried mine. They tracked the floods and fountains, And won, with master hand, Far more than gold in mountains,— The glorious prairie land. Inheritors of glory, Oh! countrymen! we swear To guard the flag that o’er ye Where’er through earth’s far regions Its triple crosses fly, For God, for home, our legions Shall win, or fighting, die! —The Duke of Argyle. |
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