rave of any land,
Nor would I ask his clime or creed before I gave my hand;
Let but the deeds be ever such that all the world may know,
And little reck "the place of birth," or colour of the brow;
Yet though I hail'd a foreign name among the first and best,
Our own transcendent stars of fame would rise within my breast;
I'd point to hundreds who have done the most 'ere done by man,
And cry "There's England's glory scroll," do better if you can!

A SONG FOR AUSTRALIA

_GOD BLESS THE DEAR OLD LAND_,

BY WILLIAM COX BENNET.

A thousand leagues below the line, 'neath southern stars and skies,
'Mid alien seas, a land that's ours, our own new England lies;
From north to south, six thousand miles heave white with ocean foam,
Between the dear old land we've left and this our new-found home;
Yet what though ocean stretch between--though here this hour we
stand!
Our hearts, thank God! are English still; God bless the dear old
land!
"To England!" men, a bumper brim; up, brothers, glass in hand!
"England!" I give you "England!" boys; "God bless the dear old land!"

O what a greatness she makes ours? her past is all our own,
And such a past as she can boast, and brothers, she alone;
Her mighty ones the night of time triumphant shining through,
Of them our sons shall proudly say, "They were our fathers too;"
For us her living glory shines that has through ages shone;
Let's match it with a kindred blaze, through ages to live on;
Thank God! her great free tongue is ours; up brothers, glass in hand!
Here's "England," freedom's boast and ours; "God bless the dear old
land!"

For us, from priests and kings she won rights of such priceless worth
As make the races from her sprung the freemen of the earth;
Free faith, free thought, free speech, free laws, she won through
bitter strife,
That we might breathe unfetter'd air and live unshackled life;
Her freedom boys, thank God! is ours, and little need she fear,
That we'll allow a right she won to die or wither here;
Free-born, to her who made us free, up brothers glass in hand!
"Hope of the free," here's "England!" boys, "God bless the dear old
land!"

They say that dangers cloud her way, that despots lour and threat;
What matters that? her mighty arm can smite and conquer yet;
Let Europe's tyrants all combine, she'll meet them with a smile;
Hers are Trafalgar's broadsides still--the hearts that won the Nile:
We are but y