A thousand years of power,
A thousand marches done,
Lands beyond lands our dower,
Flag with no setting sun—
Now to the new King’s sealing,
Come from the farthest seas,
Sons of the croft and sheiling,
Sons of the moor and leas—

Those that went from us, daring
The wastes and the wilds and the wood:
Hither they come to us, sharing
Our glory, the call of the blood;
Hither they come to the sealing—
They or the seed of them come,
Bring the new King the revealing
Of continents yesterday dumb.

Out on the veldt, in the pineland,
Camped by the spring or the hill,
Pressing the grapes of the vineland,
Grinding the wheat at the mill,
Oracles whispered the message
Meant for the ear of the King—
Joyous and splendid the presage,
Lofty the vision they bring!

Each for his new land—he made it;
Each for the Old Land which gave
Treasure, that none should invade it,
Blood its high altars to lave;
Each for the brotherhood nations,
All of the nations for each:
Here giving thanks and oblations,
One in our blood and our speech,

Pledging our love and alliance,
Faith upon faith for the King,
Making no oath in defiance,
Crying, “No challenge we fling,”
Yet for the peace of all people,
Yet for the good of our own,
Here, with our prayers and oblations,
Pledge we our lives to the throne!