ENGLAND AND HER COLONIES

She stands, a thousand-wintered tree,

By countless morns impearled;

Her broad roots coil beneath the sea,

Her branches sweep the world;

Her seeds, by careless winds conveyed,

Clothe the remotest strand

With forests from her scatterings made,

New nations fostered in her shade,

And linking land with land.

O ye by wandering tempest sown

‘ Neath every alien star,

Forget not whence the breath was blown

That wafted you afar!

For ye are still her ancient seed

On younger soil let fall —

Children of Britain's island-breed,

To whom the Mother in her need

Perchance may one day call.