Fair are Britannia's fertile vales, with happy hamlets strown,
And fair are Gallia's hills and plains, for teeming vineyards known;
The Arno flows through smiling lands where peasants know but glee;
And stars that shine o'er Egypt's flood, earth's favoured regions see.
But not less rich than Britain's isles, and not less fair than France
Shall be the plains where, aftertime, my sons will lead the dance;
And not more pure th' Italian skies than skies above my soil.
And streams as broad, as rich as Nile shall bless my peasants' toil.
Rich are the gifts Columbia gives to those who cross the wave,
Bright are the ores she brings to light, where delves the weary slave;