The scions of his love may still increase,
And o’er a land where life has ample room,
In health and plenty innocently bloom.
Delightful land, in wildness e’en benign,
The glorious past is ours, the future thine!
As in a cradled Hercules, we trace
The lines of empire in thine infant face.
What nations in thy wide horizon’s span
Shall teem on tracts untrodden yet by man!
What spacious cities with their spires shall gleam