The Seven Seas. Rudyard Kipling

drink with me

      To the men of the Four New Nations,

      And the Islands of the Sea —

      To the last least lump of coral

      That none may stand outside,

      And our own good pride shall teach us

      To praise our comrade's pride.

      To the hush of the breathless morning

      On the thin, tin, crackling roofs,

      To the haze of the burned back-ranges

      And the dust of the shoeless hoofs —

      To the risk of a death by drowning,

      To the risk of a death by drouth —

      To the men of a million acres,

      To the Sons of the Golden South.

      To the Sons of the Golden South, (Stand up!)

      And the life we live and know,

      Let a fellow sing o' the little things he cares about,

      If a fellow fights for the little things he cares about

      With the weight of a single blow!

      To the smoke of a hundred coasters,

      To the sheep on a thousand hills,

      To the sun that never blisters,

      To the rain that never chills —

      To the land of the waiting springtime,

      To our five-meal, meat-fed men,

      To the tall deep-bosomed women,

      And the children nine and ten!

      And the children nine and ten, (Stand up!)

      And the life we live and know,

      Let a fellow sing o' the little things he cares about,

      If a fellow fights for the little things he cares about