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Aroused from the land where the sun meets the sea,
By the beat of the jungle drums of your fatherland;
Arise! Oh Son of Africa, Arise! For the land calls to you.

Where are the rich treasures that once came from your land?
Where lie the green fields that once fed the kings of Europe?
Where is the store of your strength that ploughed the cotton fields of Louisiana?
What, Oh son of Cush has dimmed your sights and sapped your strength?

Your land now lies fallow, your stores, empty, your children hungry.
You look across the sea with longing, at the lands your fathers dreaded,
For it was those lands that took them, never to return, lost to tomorrow.
Turn again to the rich black soil beneath your feet, turn your heart home.

Africa beacons you, your fatherland calls to you, Oh son of the jungle drums,
Return in your strength to the passion of your fathers, who tamed the jungle
And conquered the great rivers, who built cities of old, men of great renown.
Arise and build, return and restore, the glory of your fatherland awaits your uncovering.