O love, is this thy own dear land,
And thine the silvery hours?
Then knight me with thy own fair hand —
An accolade of flowers!

Now lucent eyes and happy face —
The stars are in thy train;
The lilies blush in their disgrace,
The rose resigns her reign!

When on that temple's domes and walls
The tints of morning shine,
It needs not Love's muezzin calls
To bid me seek their shrine.

From heart to heart, an eager tide,
Pulses the mystic wine,
In such fair channel to abide
And blend all mine and thine.

Pure as the air that blows across
Thy many mountains old;
Warm as the fire that drives the dross
Off from the shining gold;

Bright as the stars that watch above
Thy prairies broad unrolled;
True as the truest tale of love
That e'er was sung or told;
Is the love we bear to thee,
O Queen of the Land and Sea!
Columbia! Columbia!
Thou Home of Liberty!

Long as we love the sacred ties
That love has given birth;
Long as we love the memories
That twine around each hearth;
Long as our best life-blood to thee

Go up, go up, my heart,
Dwell with thy God above;
For here thou canst not rest,
Nor here give out thy love.

Go up, go up, my heart,
Be not a trifler here;
Ascend above these clouds,
Dwell in a higher sphere.

Let not thy love flow out
To things so soiled and dim
Go up to heaven and God,
Take up thy love to him.

Waste not thy precious stores
On creature-love below;
To God that wealth belongs,
On him that wealth bestow.

Go up, reluctant heart,
Take up thy rest above;

The months may come, the months may go,
The frosty winds come leaping,
And silent 'neath the driven snow
The hearts of flowers be sleeping.
There lives yet in each soothed vein
The dauntless will to blossom
When pink arbutus crowns again
The hills of earth's fair bosom.

So in my true love's gentle heart,
Though forces dire be waging
To draw me from that breast apart,
Her constant watch engaging,
I know that where Love plants his seed
'Twill grow to sweet fruition,
And buds of thought and flowers of deed

Love once and death chang'd weapons, and death took
Loves fiery dart, while Cupid got deaths hook
Love at the body, death at th'mind lets fly,
This makes old men to love, and young men dye.

Thy quiet goodness, spirit pure and brave
What boots it now with tears to tell?
The path to Rest lies thro' the Grave:
Loved Sister, take our long Farewell!

Dear father, thou hast left us here,
In this world of sorrow, pain and crime,
For thee w eshed the orphan's tear,
And God alone our wounds can bind.

Our love for thee can never die,
Thy memory we will e'er adore,
O, sainted one, watch from on high,
Till time shall cease and be no more.

Watch for the five thou hast left behind,
'Til death shall bring us all to thee,
Some day, I do not know the time,
We, too, must cross the mystic sea.

Somewhere beyond " the vale of tears, "
I do not know just where 'twill be,

Heroines strong are we,
Sisters of Masons free,
Men of God's love;
Fighting for truth and right,
Walking in love's clear light,
Trusting for strength and might,
Our God above.

Being true, we can not fall,
He will uphold us all
With his strong arm;
Then let us march and pray,
Walk with Him day by day,
He'll safely lead the way,
Keep us from harm.

Heroines strong and bold,
Like heroines of old,
Rahab and Ruth,
We are a valiant band
Marchin gto glory land
Led by the guiding hand
Of Christ the truth.

1

Clymena still complains of me
And I of her complain too;
But would you know the cause, why we
This quarrel did attain to?
'Tis 'cause I am not true saies she,
And I say that again too.

2

I cannot choose but wonder why
This lovely toy doth blame me,
If my heart wears inconstancy;
It is but what became me
Since she was fickle why not I?
I'm but as she did frame me.

3

1

Prithee Caelia tell me, why
Thou fool'st away thy precious howers,
Beauty fades, and youth doth fly,
There's no trust to futurity
Time present's only in our powers.
She that her present joys doth defer,
Would love at the last, when none will love her,
And so proves her own Idolater.

2

Either love or say you will not,
For love or scorn's all one to me,
Diversion's pleasant, though it fill not;
Denialls vex us, but they kill not,