On that bold hill, against a broad blue stream,
stood Arthur Phillip on a day of dream;
what time the mists of morning westward rolled
and heaven flowered on a bay of gold.
Here, in the hour that shines and sounds afar,
flamed first Old England's banner like a star;
Here in a time august with prayer and praise,
was born the nation of these splendid days,
and here, this land's majestic yesterday
of immemorial silence died away
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