Gather on the Heights, and give thanks to God.
The Deliverer has brought you down to the valley,
to fulfill here His will where faithless have faltered.
God's own good earth, is His gift to his children
who prepare for planting, plough straight furrows,
sow seeds in the soil, care for the crops,
reap the Lord's harvest, receive of His bounty.
Bold shire settlers, survey the wide scene.
View now the valley, the broad, watered basin,
a barony is buried beneath the tall broam.
Now prairie grass stands where wheat fields once waved.
Dragonflies dip low where marshes reclaim.
Buried in barrows the weird ways of war,
silvery shields that shined in the sun,
no longer are held in heathen's bold hands.
Shire fighter-farmers go forth to the field.
With blades biting deep, break the broam sod.
With scythes swinging wide, slash the vile weed.
Pull up and slash down the post-wood and squirrel hedge,
the poisoning thistle, the grass choking point-plant.
Corral the wild cattle and claim with your brand.
Clear out the vermin from cottages crumbled
from years of neglect, disuse, and decay.
The Valley is yours from He who gives all,
this fruitful dwelling, divinely delivered.
Preserve and protect, produce and prosper.
Give thanks to heaven for His Simple Gifts.