IX

NEW ZEALAND

CCXXX

NEW ZEALAND HYMN

GOD of Nations! at Thy feet
In the bonds of love we meet,
Hear our voices, we entreat,

God defend our free land!
Guard Pacific's triple star
From the shafts of strife and war,
Make her praises heard afar,

God defend New Zealand!

Men of every creed and race
Gather here before Thy face,
Asking Thee to bless this place,
God defend our free land!
From dissension, envy, hate,
And corruption guard our State,
Make our country good and great,
God defend New Zealand!

Peace, not war, shall be our boast,
But, should foes assail our coast,
Make us then a mighty host,
God defend our free land!
Lord of Battles, in Thy might,
Put our enemies to flight,
Let our cause be just and right,
God defend New Zealand!

Let our love for Thee increase,
May Thy blessings never cease,
Give us plenty, give us peace,

God defend our free land!
From dishonour and from shame
Guard our country's spotless name,
Crown her with immortal fame,
God defend New Zealand!

May our mountains ever be
Freedom's ramparts on the sea,
Make us faithful unto Thee,
God defend our free land!
Guide her in the nations' van,
Preaching love and truth to man,
Working out Thy glorious plan,
God defend New Zealand!

Thomas Bracken.

CCXXXI

OUR HERITAGE

A PERFECT peaceful stillness reigns,
Not e'en a passing playful breeze
The sword-shaped flax-blades gently stirs :
The vale and slopes of rising hills
Are thickly clothed with yellow grass,
Whereon the sun, late risen, throws
His rays, to linger listlessly.

Naught the expanse of yellow breaks,
Save where a darker spot denotes
Some straggling bush of thorny scrub;
While from a gully down the glen,
The foliage of the dull-leaved trees
Rises to view; and the calm air
From stillness for a moment waked
By parakeets' harsh chattering,

Swift followed by a tui's trill

Of bell-like notes, is hushed again.

The tiny orbs of glistening dew

Still sparkle, gem-like, 'mid the grass;

While morning mist, their Mother moist,
Reluctant loiters on the hill,

Whence presently she'll pass to merge
In the soft depths of the blue heav'ns.
This fertile Isle to us is given

Fresh from its Maker's hand; for here
No records of the vanished past

Tell of the time when might was right,

And self-denial weakness was;
But all is peaceful, pure, and fair.
Our heritage is hope. We'll rear
A Nation worthy of the land;
And when in age we linger late,
Upon the heights above life's vale,
Before we, like the mist, shall merge
In depths of God's eternity,
We'll see, perchance, our influence
Left dew-like, working for the good
Of those whose day but dawns below.

Alexander Bathgate.

CCXXXII

TO ONE IN ENGLAND

I SEND to you

Songs of a Southern Isle,

Isle like a flower

In warm seas low lying:
Songs to beguile

Some wearisome hour,
When Time's tired of flying.

Songs which were sung
To a rapt listener lying,
In sweet lazy hours,

Where wild-birds' nests swing,
And winds come a-sighing

In Nature's own bowers.

Songs which trees sing,
By summer winds swayed
Into rhythmical sound;
Sweet soul-bells sung

Through the Ngaio's green shade,
Unto one on the ground.