The Year, an aged holy priest, In gorgeous vestments clad, Now celebrates the solemn feast
There may be more enchanting climes Within a southern zone; There may be eastern Edens deckt
Northland of our birth and rearing, Bound to us by ties endearing, - Forward ever, nothing fearing!
God of mercy without measure! God of all-embracing love! Show'ring in Thy gracious pleasure
Oh! why should sorrow wound the heart, And rob the soul of rest? Why is misfortune's bitter dart
How often, Lord, when 'tis Thy will To use the chastening rod, My soul, possessed of passions ill,
An April day, when skies are blue, And earth rejoices to renew Her vernal youth by lawn and lea,
He bent above our darling's bed When her life was ebbing low, And in his serious look we read
A woman on an empire's throne Has sat in queenly pride, And swayed the sceptre of her power
Though like Ulysses, fam'd of old, I travell'd, or the wandering Jew, No nobler sight could I behold
Dreary and dismal and dark Is the night of life to me, With nothing but clouds in the heaven above,
"Give me of your fruit, banana! Of your yellow fruit, banana! Growing on the tropic islands,