O Cameroon, Thou Cradle of our Fathers, Holy Shrine where in our midst they now repose, Their tears and blood and sweat thy soil did water, On thy hills and valleys once their tillage rose. Dear Fatherland, thy worth no tongue can tell! How can we ever pay thy due? Thy welfare we will win in toil and love and peace, Will be to thy name ever true!
From Shari, from where the Mungo meanders From along the banks of lowly Boumba Stream, Muster thy sons in union close around thee, Mighty as the Buea Mountain be their team; Instil in them the love of gentle ways, Regret for errors of the past; Foster, for Mother Africa, a loyalty That true shall remain to the last.
