THE  SONG  OF  GUYANA’S  CHILDREN

 Born in the land of the mighty Roraima

Land of great rivers and far stretching sea

So like the mountain, the sea and the river

Great, wide and deep in our lives would we be;

 

Chorus

Onward, upward, may we ever go,

Day by day in strength and beauty grow,

Till at length we each of us will show

What Guyana’s sons and daughters can be

 

Born in the land of Kaieteur’s shining splendour

Land of the palm tree, croton and fern

We would possess all the virtues and graces

We all the glory of goodness would learn.

 

Chorus

Onward, upward, may we ever go

Day by day in strength and beauty grow

Till at length we each of us may show

What Guyana’s sons and daughters can be.

 

Born in the land where men sought El Dorado

Land of the diamond and bright shining gold

We would build up by our faith, love and labour

God’s golden city which never grows old.

 

Chorus

Onward, upward, may we ever go

Day by day in strength and beauty grow

Till at length we each of us may show

What Guyana’s sons and daughters can be.

 

Thus to the land which to us God has given

May our young lives bring a gift rich and rare

Thus as we grow, may the worth of Guyana

Shine with a glory beyond all compare.

Chorus

Onward, upward, may we ever go

Day by day in strength and beauty grow,

Till at length we each of us may show

What Guyana’s sons and daughters can be.

End

[Thanks to Peter Halder for this submission.]

OH BEAUTIFUL GUYANA

Oh my lovely native land

More dear to me than all the world

Thy sun-washed, sun-kissed strand

Or down upon the borders

Looking out upon the deep

The great Atlantic

Blown into a fury or asleep

At morn, at noon - or better

In the crimson sunset’s glow

I love thee, Oh I love thee.  

GACACF  

Guyanese American Cultural Association of Central Florida

MY  NATIVE  LAND

Oh I care not that others rave over fair lands afar

Where silver lakes and placid streams mirror the evening star

I care not though their wealth be great, their scenery be grand

For none so far can compare with my own native land.

 

Their sylvan vales and rippling brooks may charm me when I roam

But what of that? No brooks and vales can steal my love of home;

Where I in childhood used to play, and where the old folks rest

Must be to me. where’er I be, the dearest and the best.

 

And though I rove o’er hill and dale and brave old Neptune’s foam,

O’er crags and rocks and mossy dells, I still will turn me home;

For when at length I come to die, I want no gilded tomb,

Just let me rest within thy breast, where thy sweet flowers bloom,

Where thy sweet flowers bloom.

.