For ladies fair, with beauty rare,
Zealania boasts, beyond compare.
And smiles more sweet we’ll never meet
Until we bow at Peter’s feet.
Awake again and listen, when
Beholding strong Zealania’s men.
’Tis writ by Fate, men only great
Could constitute this noble State.
Then sing for all, both great and small,
Each in fit place, that none may fall.
The dreams of seers, the hopes and fears,
Have gathered ’long the silent years,
And on these Isles, with radiant smiles,
Were cast the hoarded “afterwhiles.”
Zealania fair, thou art the heir
Of all the cries of ancient prayer.
Here sturdy bands, with gen’rous hands,
Are guardians of these favored lands.