Land, O, land of the Fair God,
Land where ancient, savage races
Through barbarian ages trod!
Through thy story fancy traces
Facts above what fictions say,
Where the world with haste advances,—
Born are nations in a day!
Where the wigwam stood so lonely,
Lordly cities rise in might;
Where spread desert wildness only,
Fertile farms and homes delight.
Thou hast summoned to thy bosom
From the ends of all the earth,
All the youngest, strongest, bravest,
Full of will and wondrous worth.
O’er thy valleys grow the blossoms
Culled from earth’s remotest sod;
Land, O, Land of the Fair God!
There is music in thy name.
There is gladness in thy glory,
There is fondness in thy fame!
In the wonders of thy story
Shines the sheen of noble deed,
Brighter than the glare of battle
Where the warriors toil and bleed;
Ruling with immortal forces,
There is found the king of might,
Over all thy great resources
By the strength of truth and right.
With thy happy sons and daughters,
Live the virtues fair and pure,
And the better angels guiding
Keep their hearts and souls secure.
There are treasures in thy valleys,
There are treasures in thy hills;
How thy name my bosom thrills!
Child of law and liberty,
Thou art always true and tender,
Thou art ever dear to me!
I will always praises render
To the grandeur of thy worth,
For the fortunes all presided
At the moment of thy birth.
Pleasures in their pure completeness
O’er thy pleasant prairies shine,
And the raptures run with fleetness
Through the happy vales of thine.
Thou art empress of the angels,
Thou art queen of all the gods,
And the happiness of heaven
O’er thy laughing valleys nods.
I will always crown with praises
All thy glories, O, my state;
Thou art greatest of the great!
Bravest are thy noble sons,
In the thunders of the battle,
And the roaring of the guns!
Flash of sword and musket’s rattle
Never fearful terror gave
To the staunch and valiant bosoms
Of thy happy hosts and brave.
When the roars of hell grow louder,
And the mountains shake in fright,
In the lurid clouds of powder,
They are foremost in the fight;
And when bayonet and musket,
Sword and saber, slaughter cease,
They are tenderest and truest
In the silent ways of peace.
O, my state! A stream of greatness
From thy mighty people runs;
Bravest are thy noble sons!