O SOUTHLAND!

O Southland! O Southland!

Have you not heard the call,

The trumpet blown, the word made known

To the nations, one and all?

The watchword, the hope-word,

Salvation's present plan?

A gospel new, for all — for you:

Man shall be saved by man.

O Southland! O Southland!

Do you not hear to-day

The mighty beat of onward feet,

And know you not their way?

‘ Tis forward,‘ tis upward,

On to the fair white arch

Of Freedom's dome, and there is room

For each man who would march.

O Southland, fair Southland!

Then why do you still cling

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 shirk

The toilsome task, nor respite ask,

But gird you for the work.

Remember, remember

That weakness stalks in pride;

That he is strong who helps along

The faint one at his side.