Tell England that I love her, I love her windswept field, her rusling waving harvest, Which golden autumn yields. I love her sunburnt furrows, That throb with life aglow. Her queenly grace, her fair sweet face, Dear land, I love you so.
Tell England that I love her, Although she already knows. Her beauty is my only spur, But how my love grows.
Tell England that I love her, I tread her fields by day. With quickened peace and eager, Across her furrowed way. In freedoms flaming sunshine, The young green corn shall blow. Joy shall spring and men shall sing, Dear land, I love you so.
Tell England that I love her, Those field shall be my toil. My plough shall sweep the furrows, An liberty's sweet soil. Until a golden harvest, On Englands field shall stand. All fair and white a flame so bright, The glory of my land.