As I sit beneath this tree,
And look as far as I can see,
Sun drenched lands rolling fields
That a bounteous harvest yield.
The farmers move behind their ploughs,
Toil and work with sweaty brows,
Then as tapering stacks they raise
Of long stalked wheat or golden maize.
No other sight so lovely
Than this, my soul, can ever be,
And a longing fills my heart,
To turn to dust become a part,
Of these magic fertile sands,
Of my land, of my land.

Now I watch with heavy heart
All those sweaty backs depart,
For the darkness now draws near,
In a sky of crystal clear,
I long to sit here all night long,
To listen to that koyal's song.
I trace their steps homeward bound
And listen to the haunting sound,
Of the flour mill by the creek,
As it chugs without a break.
The road is narrow, the road is dark,
As it winds along the park,
Where graceful trees the moon do seek,
And whispering winds to flowers speak.
A humming bee its day is done,
Now flits and frolics full of fun,
As it darts from flower to flower,
Sings a lullaby this hour.
The darkness deepens, the skies are clear,
As the foothills now draw near,
How stern like sentinels they stand,
O'er my land, O'er my land.

In the distance a chimney's smoke
(Gray'd the sky as it rose)
Where it goes no one knows.
My home is come I leave behind,
The sleeping flowers, the whispering wind,
The chugging mill, the humming bee,
And as I sleep, I shall see,
From beneath a towering tree
Gazing and wondering what more could be,
Beyond those sun-drenched fields and sands,
Of my land, Of my land.