God of my sires! o'er ocean's brim
Yon beauteous land appears at last;
Raise, comrades! raise your holiest hymn,
For now our toils are past:
See o'er the bosom of the deep,
She gaily lifts her summer charms,
As if at last she long'd to leap
From dark oblivion's arms.
What forms, what lovely scenes may lye
Secluded in thy flower breast;
Pure is thy sea, and calm thy sky,
Thou Garden of the West!
Around each solitary hill
A rich magnificence is hurl'd,
Thy youthful face seems wearing still
The first fresh fragrance of the world.
We come with hope our beacon bright,
Like Noah drifting o'er the wave,
To claim a world--the ocean's might
Has shrouded like the grave;
And oh, the dwellers of the Ark
Ne'er pined with fonder hearts, to see
The bird of hope regain their bark,
Than I have long'd for thee.
Around me was the boundless flood,
O'er which no mortal ever pass'd,
Above me was a solitude
As measureless and vast;
Yet in the air and on the sea,
The voice of the Eternal One
Breathed forth the song of hope to me,
And bade me journey on.
My bark! the winds are fair unfurl'd
To waft thee on thy watery road,
Oh haste, that I may give the world
Another portion of her God;
That I may lead those tribes aright,
So long on error's ocean driven,
And point to their bewilder'd sight
A fairer path to heaven.
The mightiest states shall pass away,
Their mouldering grandeur cannot last;
But thou, fair land! shalt be for aye
A glory, when they're past:
As now thou look'st in youthful bloom,
When earth grows old and states decline,
So thou shalt flourish o'er their tomb,
Tired freedom's peaceful shrine.
Spain! though I'm not of thine, thou'lt claim
A glory with the brightest age,
And years shall never blot thy name
From fame's immortal page!
Rome conquer'd, but enslaved each land,
Made empires ruins in her mirth;
But thou, with far a nobler hand,
Wilt add one-half to earth.
What have the proudest conquerors rear'd
To hold their honours forth to fame--
Things which a few short years have sear'd,
And left without a name!
But I, 'mid empires prostrate hurl'd,
'Mid all the glories time has rent,
Will raise no column, but a world,
To stand my monument!