Though we toddle in crumble
We still can scrabble to walk
For we're not bound to shamble
Nor to lurk till dawn in the murk
Arise, oh Africa like the sun
And sweat to the straw
Nay, it might hurt and burn
But shall not be made to crawl
May we now think of brick
As to make our house and wall
With our mother's earth and rock
For 'tis high time we fell
There can we still stand
NE're again in swirling wing
And at least to expect a land
Where we can alone sing a song
For he that prides in curbing webs
Thus to it lives like ever...
Unless we stoop now in toils
We shall ever nor conquer
Let 's so beat these arms to plough
Till we till our young virgin land
Then shall our basket, filled with dough
Shall we never wobble while we stand.
