Dry your tears, Africa!
Your Children come back to you
Out of the storm and squalls of fruitless journeys


Through the crest of the waves and the
bubbling of the breeze,
Over the gold of the East
and the Purple of the setting Sun,
the peaks of the proud mountains
and the grasslands drenched with light
They return to you
out of the storm and squalls of fruitless journeys


Dry your tears, Africa!
We have drunk
From all the springs of ill fortune and of glory


And our senses are now opened
To the splendour of your beauty
To the smell of your forests
To the charm of your waters
To the clearness of your skies
To the cares of your sun
And to the charm of your foliage pearled by the dew


Dry your tears, Africa!
Your children come back to you
Their hand full of playthings
And their heart full of love
They return to clothe you
In their dreams in their hopes