Oh, you sons!
Come home.
To the Green Land,
To fill our hearts with songs.
Oh, you sons!
Thou goeth from the South.
Thou seeker of the golden lord,
Settle our discourse for us.
Oh, you sons!
Our lads are here,
Employ them.
Our girls are here,
Educate them.
Oh, you sons!
Come home from strange sands.
Eat from our deep bowl of eba and amala,
Help our youthful way.
Oh, you sons!
Come home, come home,
Help arrange our fallen rafters
And our cracked walls.
Oh, you sons!
Help our industrial shrine.
Either goeth East or West,
Home is best.
Oh, my sons!
Come home
To the Green Land
To fill our hearts with songs of joy.
