Why Sing of Old?
Why sing of old, when present days
Are fresher, fairer far?
As well the moonbeam's silent rays
To tilt against the star.
Are fresher, fairer far?
As well the moonbeam's silent rays
To tilt against the star.
Why sing of foreign lands and name,
When here at our own door
Lies every attribute of Fame,
We search for o'er and o'er?
When here at our own door
Lies every attribute of Fame,
We search for o'er and o'er?
Why sing of cave and cavern deep,
Whose land can ne'er compare
With ours, whose mighty wonders sleep
Around us, everywhere?
Whose land can ne'er compare
With ours, whose mighty wonders sleep
Around us, everywhere?
Why sing of artist, or of art
In lands beyond the seas,
And pass by those of greater part
In glorious lands like these?
In lands beyond the seas,
And pass by those of greater part
In glorious lands like these?
Oh, Freedom is a mighty thing,
And yet 'tis thrown aside
By those who would of others sing,
Because of vaunted pride.
And yet 'tis thrown aside
By those who would of others sing,
Because of vaunted pride.
'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."