O young through all thy immemorial years! Rise, Mother, rise, regenerate from thy gloom, And, like a bride high-mated with the spheres, Beget new glories from thine ageless womb!
The nations that in fettered darkness weep Crave thee to lead them where great mornings break . . . . Mother, O Mother, wherefore dost thou sleep? Arise and answer for thy children's sake!
Thy Future calls thee with a manifold sound To crescent honours, splendours, victories vast; Waken, O slumbering Mother and be crowned, Who once wert empress of the sovereign Past.
