[Sung at the Opening of the Queensland National Society's Exhibition, <br />1876.] <br />While nations joining gifts <br />Their fanes of Art adorn, <br />Hear, Lord, the lowly voice that lifts <br />The song of the youngest-born. <br />The gifts of the youngest-born, <br />We spread them forth to Thee,— <br />What toil hath wrought, what skill hath taught, <br />What Freedom hath brought the free. <br /> <br />No storied name we vaunt, <br />Nor martial trophies raise; <br />No battle-riven banners flaunt <br />The triumphs of other days. <br />But triumphs of peaceful days <br />Adorn our jubilee: <br />Here toil and skill Thine ends fulfil, <br />With hands that from blood are free. <br /> <br />We pile the arms of Peace, <br />Her trophies manifold, <br />Her ploughshare swords, her shields of fleece, <br />Her armour of bloodless gold. <br />Our treasures of fleece and gold <br />We consecrate to Thee, <br />With choicest yield of fruitful field, <br />And spoil from the forest-tree. <br /> <br />We bless Thee for our land, <br />Broad streams and gladdening rills, <br />For flocks that roam on ev'ry hand, <br />For herds on a thousand hills. <br />From all its thousand hills <br />Our land doth call to Thee, <br />Still do Thou bless with happiness <br />This youngest of the free.<br /><br />James Brunton Stephens<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/opening-hymn/
