England and Her Colonies
SHE stands, a thousand-wintered tree, By countless morns impearled; Her broad roots coil beneath the sea, Her branches sweep the world; Her seeds, by careless winds conveyed, Clothe the remotest strand With forests from her scatterings made, New nations fostered in her shade, And linking land with land. O ye by wandering tempest sown íNeath every alien star, Forget not whence the breath was blown That wafted you afar! For ye are still her ancient seed On younger soil let falló Children of Britainís island-breed, To whom the Mother in her need Perchance may one day call.
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