Then Seddon came, without whose name
This temple were unfinished frame.
But in his care, with graceful air,
The structure rose, with finish fair.
His sturdy stroke the times awoke,
As from Tradition’s rules he broke.
Upon the land he scattered bands,
With willing hearts and sturdy hands.
To those once rent with discontent,
He even-handed Justice sent.
Now o’er the State, nor fear nor hate
Could find companion, small or great.
Look o’er the land, from peak to strand,
There’s happiness on every hand.
Here Cities rare, exceeding fair,
Zealania boasts, with modest air.
At eve or dawn, we gaze upon
The busy, “blowy” Wellington.