As pure as the murmurs of silvery fountains,
But loud as the roar on the billowy strand.
Our deep-furrowed prairies, our ship-laden rivers,
Our ax-ringing forests, our steam-shrieking bays,
Swell high in your music, for all are free givers
To freedom's true grandeur and liberty's praise.

How fondly, dear songs of my country, ye cherish
The struggle heroic, the God-shapen deed,
That nothing of worthiness ever may perish
But live to the time of humanity's need!
Afar from the realms of the centuries olden,
Ye summon with gladness the glories of years,
To greet every hero with cadences golden,
And sing every sage that in greatness appears.

The ages may falter thee, Land of my Birth,
The years may thy grandeur and glory betray;
But long as thy songs murmur over the earth,
No forces can carry thy splendors away!
Then live, ye dear songs of my country, forever,
With voices eternal to utter her name,
That cycles may never her liberty sever,
Nor trample her greatness nor crumble her fame!




JULY FOURTH.