Lord, by Whose might the Heavens stand,
The Source from Whom they came,
Who holdest nations in Thy hand,
And call'st the stars by name,
Thine ageless forces do not cease
To mould us as of yore--
The chiselling of the arts of peace,
The anvil-strikes of war.

Then bind our realm in brotherhood,
Firm laws and equal rights,
Let each uphold the Empire's good
In freedom that unites;
And make that speech whose thunders roll
Down the broad stream of time
The harbinger from pole to pole
Of love and peace sublime.

Lord, turn the hearts of cowards who prate,
Afraid to dare or spend,
The doctrine of a narrower state
More easy to defend;
Not this the watchword of our sires,
Who breathed with ocean's breath,
Not this our spirit's ancient fires,
Which naught could quench but death.

Strong are we? Make us stronger yet;
Great? Make us greater far;
Our feet antarctic oceans fret,