A REPUBLIC’S PRAYER: AN ELIZABETHAN TRIBUTE TO JULY THE FIRST: Commemorating Ghana’s Republic Day as a National Day of Prayer and Thanksgiving
“A nation is most noble not when it conquers, but when it remembers—
and kneels in thanks for the freedom it once bled to win.”
— A.A.A.
“Righteousness exalteth a nation: but sin is a reproach to any people.”
— Proverbs 14:34 (KJV)
From coast of gold where foreign banners flew,
A silent hope in subject hearts once grew.
The British crown her wealth and soul confined,
Yet freedom stirred in every learned mind.
Then dawned the hour in nineteen-sixty’s grace,
When Ghana stood and claimed her rightful place.
No longer ruled by distant sceptred hand,
She carved her fate upon her native land.
Nkrumah led, a colossus firm and wide,
With dreams that surged like Volta’s mighty tide.
He broke the yoke and made July the First,
A symbol proud for all by chains once cursed.
Yet lo, a steward rose in season due,
Whose voice rekindled rites the nation knew.
He stirred the embers ’neath devotion’s flame,
And cloaked the day in reverence—not acclaim.
Now churches swell with hymns on every shore,
And mosques resound with praise for evermore.
From northern plains to where the ocean lies,
All kneel beneath Ghanaian azure skies.
From Upper East where rocks like guardians rise,
To Upper West where baobab trees prize—
Their ancient limbs reach skyward in the sun,
In silent thanks for victories hard-won.
In North and North-East, cattle paths run deep;
The shepherds pray where stars their vigil keep.
The drummers beat beneath the shea-tree shade,
As faithful chants in Hausa tones are made.
Savannah’s stretch in Bono and Ahafo,
Where hunters’ horns through sacred forests blow—
Now echo psalms through cocoa fields at rest,
The earth rejoicing in her Sunday-dressed.
Ashanti’s stool, by gold and myth defined,
Now bows before the Maker of mankind.
The talking drums in ancient cadence veer,
From pageant tones to echoes more austere.
The forest choir in Eastern hills arise,
Where rivers run like silver ’neath the skies.
And Okyeman in cloaks of kente bright
Now lifts up prayers like incense in the night.
In Central Region, where the castles sleep,
And ocean waves still groan with memories deep,
The children’s voices rise like seagull calls,
With gospel songs that shake ancestral halls.
Western and Western North, with oil and ore,
Now offer thanks upon their verdant floor.
From Sefwi groves to Wassa’s ancient shrines,
And twin harbours where seaward blessing shines.
And Greater Accra, proud seat of state and flame,
The Black Star shines above her sacred name.
From Jamestown light to Nungua’s woven thread,
They raise hosannas for the nation’s stead.
Volta and Oti, ’twixt hill and gleaming lake,
Their faithful souls the paths of Zion take.
In tongues Ewe, they chant the mercy song,
With sacred drums that pulse the whole day long.
And down to Bono East and farming plains,
Where priest and planter till the prayerful gains.
In Techiman, where trade and spirits blend,
They bless the Lord from harvest start to end.
The central spine to Ghana’s ocean shore,
All regions now one sacred anthem pour.
Their voices joined from every path and way
To keep the vow of this Republic Day.
O land once bound, now faithful, firm, and free,
Thy power lies in shared humility.
Not crowns, nor swords, nor fleeting worldly fame—
But trust in God shall lift thy lasting name.
COLONEL AUGUSTINE ANSU (RTD)
1ST JUL 25
