We're Britons then and brothers all when once the fight's begun.
Let Britain in an hour of need her rallying bugle sound–
Her sons 'neath Australasian skies, on far Canadian ground,
By India's streams or Africa's, shall hear, where'er they roam,
And, drawn from all the ends of earth with kindling thoughts of home,
Shall arm and answer to the call and come where danger lours
To stand beside us in the name that's theirs as well as ours.
Side by side shall sire and son
Hold the Empire they have won:
We're brothers now and Britons all until the fight is done.