With alien hearts to frame our laws br And cheat us as of old, br In vain our soil is rich, in vain br 'Tis seamed with virgin gold: br But the present only yields us nought, br The future only lours br Till we dare to be a people br In this Southern Land of Ours. br br What would pygmean statesmen but br Our new-world prospects blast, br By chaining native enterprise br To Europe's pauper past, br With all its misery for the mass, br And fraud-upholden powers; br But we'll yet have men, - like Cromwell, br In this Southern Land of Ours. br br And lo, the unploughed future, boys, br May yet be all our own, br If hearts that love their Native Land br Determine this alone: br To sow its years with crops of truth, br And border these with flowers, br Till we have a birth of heroes br In this Southern Land of Ours.