Who understands better if not a Gael
that walks these open fields to the vibrancy
that life calls upon each dale and honey carved Ben
The Soul of dreams, the plain of tears
That wells out from every blade of green
or blooming flower that's fragrance holds
The essence of the fathers, their blood and song.
Caledonia, How great your form holds
the texture of each living Soul
How well you breath fills our lungs
To the glory of these lands, our home.
A country filled with the labor of sorrow
that sings its haunting, vaulting air upon the night
Cries us to our weary bones
And drives us upon her illustrious light.
This home, this place
that fills our whole universe
where dreams are gathered deep
and tomorrow is the sunrise of our hopes
This place that gathers brother to brother
in word, deed and tone
sets us out upon the world
as bearers of her light and beauty,
To call her wandering children home.