O Southland!

O Southland!

O Southland!

Have you not heard the call,

The trumpet blown, the word made

To the nations, one and all?

The watchword, the hope-word,

Salvation's present plan?

A gospel new, for all-for

Man shall be saved by man.

O Southland!

O Southland!

Do you not hear

The mighty beat of onward feet,

And know you not their way?'Tis forward, 'tis upward,

On to the fair white

Of Freedom's dome, and there is

For each man who would march.

O Southland, fair Southland!

Then why do you still

To an idle age and a musty page,

To a dead and useless thing?'Tis springtime! 'Tis work-time!

The world is young again!

And God's above, and God is love,

And men are only men.

O Southland! my Southland!

O birthland! do not

The toilsome task, nor respite ask,

But gird you for the work.

Remember,

That weakness stalks in pride;

That he is strong who helps

The faint one at his side.