'Tis well to sing some good of all,
In other lands than ours;
'Tis sweet to hear the wild birds sing
And cull earth's wildwood flowers.
In other lands than ours;
'Tis sweet to hear the wild birds sing
And cull earth's wildwood flowers.
And yet it is to give the best
We have to our own shore,
And after that, with gentle zest.
To give what we have o'er.
We have to our own shore,
And after that, with gentle zest.
To give what we have o'er.
In other lands (less fragrant soil)
Its people's choicest praise
Is for their own, in care or toil,
And thus they sing in lays.
Its people's choicest praise
Is for their own, in care or toil,
And thus they sing in lays.
"Our own fair land," the patriot cries,
It gives the best of earth.
The pæan reaches to the skies;
"The land of one's own birth."
It gives the best of earth.
The pæan reaches to the skies;
"The land of one's own birth."
God
If you cannot believe, then hope—
For Hope hath snowy wings
To help us rise to a fuller scope,
And the understanding of things.
For Hope hath snowy wings
To help us rise to a fuller scope,
And the understanding of things.
—79—
