Mrs. Felicia D. Hemans

There shall be no more snow
No weary noontide heat,
So we lift our trusting eyes
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There shall be no more snow
No weary noontide heat,
So we lift our trusting eyes
From the hills our Fathers trod:
To the quiet of the skies:
To the Sabbath of our God.

Yet, the great ocean hath no tone of power
Mightier to reach the soul, in thought's hushed hour,
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Yet, the great ocean hath no tone of power
Mightier to reach the soul, in thought's hushed hour,
Than yours, ye Lilies! chosen thus and graced!

Fair land! of chivalry the old domain,
Land of the vine and olive, lovely Spain!
Though not read more

Fair land! of chivalry the old domain,
Land of the vine and olive, lovely Spain!
Though not for thee with classic shores to vie
In charms that fix th' enthusiast's pensive eye;
Yet hast thou scenes of beauty richly fraught
With all that wakes the glow of lofty thought.

Rome, Rome, thou art no more
As thou hast been!
On thy seven hills of yore
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Rome, Rome, thou art no more
As thou hast been!
On thy seven hills of yore
Thou sat'st a queen.

Thou hast fair forms that move
With queenly tread;
Thou hast proud fanes above
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Thou hast fair forms that move
With queenly tread;
Thou hast proud fanes above
Thy mighty dread.
Yet wears thy Tiber's shore
A mournful mien:--
Rome, Rome, thou art no more
As thou hast been.