The Groves Were God's First Temples.

Yet Will That Beauteous Image Make The Dreary Sea Less Drear And Thy Remembered Smile Will Wake The Hope That Tramples Fear

Ah! Never Shall The Land Forget.

These Struggling Tides Of Life That Seem In Wayward, Aimless Course To Tend, Are Eddies Of The Mighty Stream That Rolls To Its Appointed End.

Go Forth Under The Open Sky, And List To Nature's Teachings.

Your Peaks Are Beautiful, Ye Apennines! In The Soft Light Of These Serenest Skies; From The Broad Highland Region, Black With Pines, Fair As The Hills Of Paradise They Rise, Bathed In The Tint Peruvian Slaves Behold In Rosy Flushes On The Virgin Gold.