O chosen land of liberty,
I love, of all, the most
The splendor of thy forest tree
That waves to him across the sea
A welcome to thy coast.
Its spreading branches typify
The nation's open arms,
vVhere heavy-laden soul may lie
And know that no oppressor's cry
Shall wake it to alarms.
Its leaves a-tremble sing the song
A mother croons at eve;
They sing triumphant over wrong,
They cheer the lagging feet along
And soothe the hearts that grieve.
For this thy emblem, land of mine,
The forest on the shore—
Thy singing spruce and giant pine
And all that grand and regal line
That lives forevermore.
And he who comes from overseas
Shall hear its minstrelsy,
Shall hear upon the evening breeze
That rustles through the leafy trees
The music of the free.
And he shall feel the holy calm
These altared shores invoke,
Behold, 'mid tones of freedom's psalm
A land as peaceful as the palm,
Enduring as the oak.
