Queen of the South! which the mighty Pacific
Claims for its Britain in ages to be,
Bright with fair visions and hopes beatific,
Glorious and happy thy future I see!
Thither the children of England are thronging,
There for true riches securely to search;
Not for thy gold, California, longing,
But for sweet home, with enough, and a Church!

There, a soft clime, and a soil ever teeming
Summer's December, and Winter's July,
The bright Southern Cross in the firmament gleaming,
The Dove, and the Crown, and the Altar on high,-
There, the broad prairies with forest and river,
There, the safe harbours are bidding men search
For Thy best blessings, O heavenly Giver!
Home, with enough, and an Englishman's Church!

Yes; for Britannia, the Mother of Nations,
Sends out her children, as teeming old Greece,
Good men and great men, to stand in their stations,
Merchants of plenty, and heralds of peace:
Stout Anglo-Saxons! Port Victory calls you;
Take the glad omen, and speedily search
Where you shall gather, whatever befalls you,
Truest of treasures, a Home and a Church!

Fifty years hence,- look forward and see it,
Realm of New Zealand, what then shalt thou see?
(If the world lives, at The Father's So be it)
All shall be greatness and glory with thee!
Even should Britain's decay be down-written
In the dread doom-book that no man may search,
Still shall on Oxford, a London, a Britain,
Gladden the South with a Home and a Church!