To India

 O YOUNG through all thy immemorial years! 
Rise, Mother, rise, regenerate from thy gloom, 
And, like a bride high-mated with the spheres, 
Beget new glories from thine ageless womb!


The nations that in fettered darkness weep 
Crave thee to lead them where great mornings break .
 .
 .
 .
 
Mother, O Mother, wherefore dost thou sleep? 
Arise and answer for thy children's sake! 


Thy Future calls thee with a manifold sound 
To crescent honours, splendours, victories vast; 
Waken, O slumbering Mother and be crowned, 
Who once wert empress of the sovereign Past.

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