For those who can stand on the apex of the hill
Let them see the beauty of the valley,
The branching cicadas that sing
The crimson song from the foot of the country.
For those who can stand on the top of the mountain
Let them enjoy the vista of our country side
The stretching glades,
The beckoning tributaries, and voluble fountains
Rags and corrugated iron of the shack.
Never let them steal the beauty of your dream
Whilst hope stood the taste of time
Never shiver for the season of hope is imminent
Look upon the horizon
The rising scarlet has a passion for
The memories piteous and timid
It shall come and pass.
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