With food, plenty and flowers gay

Rich is this world of ours we say;

But there is a land in it–of all lands the best,–

Built of dreams is she and rimm'd with memories blest.

Where else doth the Sun glow so bright,

And the Moon and stars all at night?

Where else the lightning plays in clouds so thick and dark?

Here song-birds bring us sleep: we rise again and hark.

Water all fresh the rivers bear;–

Here heads quite gray the mountains rear.

Where else are fields so lovely green beneath the sky,

And the breeze in waves sends plants of paddy to fly?

Here flowers bloom on every branch;

Here birds in bowers sing and dance;

Here in a thousand swarms the bees come humming by,–

They suck honey in flowers, in flowers they lie.

Never you get in any land

Such love o’mother and brother grand.

Place, O Mother! thy feet on my bosom to hold.

Born I was here;–may I breathe my last in her fold.

Seek where’er you may, you find not a land so fine.

Queen of all lands is she–this motherland mine.