You'Re Beautiful My Country
You’re beautiful my country where mountains gather snow.
Where forest giants of many years are left alone to grow.
Where rivers in your forest still run so crystal clear.
You’re beautiful my country where lyrebird’s carol near.
You’re beautiful my country where lakes are rolled with mist.
Where breaking of your new dawn each leaf with dew is kissed.
When sunrise hems the eastern clouds to silhouette your hills.
You’re beautiful my country when I feel your morning chills.
Your wagon ruts are distant, drifting further back in time.
Through outback and forest, last century scars are hard to find.
Where our pioneer gantry’s stood over mullock heaps laid bare.
Tramlines descended from your bush, campfires filled your open air.
We’ve made grasslands out of forests. Farm where swamp used to be.
From underground raised mountains. Drowned glens for inland sea.
Yet with changing of your face you still refuse to die!
You’re beautiful my country where working hands apply.
Pounding seas and raging storms with shoreline intertwine.
Drought and flood have given strength to balance keenly fine.
When plagues of foreign culture descend upon your soil,
your protection shows no mercy to those prepared to spoil.
You’re beautiful my country when you are touched by spring.
The warming of your weather brings forth your birds to sing,
with every note a feeling, that gives our spirit drive.
You’re beautiful my country when your bush land comes alive.
You’re beautiful my country with vastness of your plains.
In every seed a green-ness ‘til falling of the rains.
When your barren dusty ranges burst into a fragrant high.
You’re beautiful my country beneath our southern sky.
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