More worthy than all of the love of the throne.
Away to the West! Westward ho! Westward ho!
God's hand is our guide; 'tis His will that we go!

To lands yet more happy than Europe's, for here
We mould the young nation for Freedom to rear.
Full strongly we build, and have nought to pull down,
For, true to ourselves, we are true to the Crown;
The will of the people its honour shows forth,
As pole-star, whose radiance points steadfastly north.

Away to the West! Westward ho! Westward ho!
Where rooted in Freedom shall Liberty grow!

Right good is the loam that for five score of days
Its rolling lands show, or its plains' scented ways:
Nor used is the pick, if the earth has concealed
The waters it keeps for the house and the field;
The spade finds enough, until burst on the sight
Our Rocky Sierras' sweet rivers of light.

Away to the West! Westward ho! Westward ho!
From mountains and lakes there the great rivers flow!

If told of Brazil or great Mexico's gold,
Of Cotton States' warmth and of Canada's cold,
Go say how we prize, like the ore of the mine,
The snows sapphire-shadowed in winter's sunshine;
--Our gayest of seasons! which guards the good soil
For races who won it through faith and through toil.