Pure as the dawn on the brow of thy beauty
Watches thy soul from the mountains of God
Over the fates of thy children departed,
Far from the land where their footsteps have trod.
Beacon of hope in the ways dreary lighted,
Pride of our hearts that are loyal and true,
From those who adore unto one who adores us
Mother of Mothers, we sing unto you!

[NOTE: Only the first verse is sung during sporting events.]

We, with our faces turned high to the Eastward
Proud of our place in the vanguard of Truth,
Will sing unto thee a new song of thanksgiving
Honor to God and the Springtime of Youth.
Shout for the victory or tear for the vanquished;
Sunshine or tempest thy heart is e'er true;
Pride of the hills and the white-laden Lowlands
Mother of Mothers, we kneel unto you.

Ever the Legions of Sin will assail us,
Even the Battle in Cities afar;
Still in the depths will thy Spirit eternal
Beckon us on like a piloting Star.
Down the dim years do thy dead children call thee,
Wafted to sleep while the Springtime was new;
We, of the Present, thy Hope of the Future
Mother of Mothers, we pray unto you.