May gentle peace forever reign
O'er these fair islands of the main,
Hawaii's peaks to Niihau's strand,
The peace of God o'er all the land!
Forever be our country free,
Our laws and Heaven's in harmony.
All hearts respond, all voices sing,
God save, God save our gracious King!
And may our Chieftains ever be,
Guided, O Lord, by love to Thee,
And all the people join to raise
One universal song of praise.
God save the people of our land,
Uphold by thine Almighty hand;
Thy watchful care defends from harm,
Faithful and sure thy sovereign arm.
Forever be our country free,
Our laws and Heaven's in harmony,
All hearts respond, all voices sing,
God save, God save our gracious King.
Lilia K. Dominis. Tr. H. L. Sheldon.
HAT has this grand, curved beach to show?
Slimy wharves, in the sun aglow?
Warehouses grim, in a dismal row,
Stretching for weary miles? No, no!
Gracefully fringed it is, with trees
Nodding obeisance to every breeze
Born on the mountain or on the high seas.
Under the trees the lagoons are asleep,
Children dumb of the roaring deep,
Into their cradle the wild waves peep.
Darling gem is each bright lagoon,
Molten silver at fervid noon,
Burnished mirror for evening's moon.
Birds on the smooth, packed sand are parading,
Legs stripped bare, all ready for wading,
Or daintily poised, the foam-crest evading.
Here is the tablet the waves prepare
For ragged school artists, so burnt and bare,
With faces begrimmed, and tangled hair.
And on this easel so smoothly sanded
Fleets are sketched by the deftly handed,
You would think the Royal Navy was stranded.
Queer little crabs are making their tracks,
With dinners robbed from their neighbors' sacks,
And stolen houses upon their backs.
Here are mosses in rarest green
And royal purple, fit for a queen,
Which painters may envy in vain, I ween.
And blue-eyed flowers, with faces bland,
All untended by human hand,
Asking nothing but sunshine and sand.
Yonder are snow-tipped mountains bold,
Always new, though a cycle old,
Full of fire as their sides can hold.
Nearer at hand, -no tongue can tell,
The mighty magic of beauty's spell,
That wakes our smiles, and tears as well.
Rarest beauties our beach can show,"
As bounding along its crescent we go,
Or lost in thought we saunter slow,
And the half has not yet been told,
FT have I wished a traveller to be:
Mine eyes did even itch the sights to see,
That I had heard and read of. Oft I have
Been greedy of occasion, as the grave,
That never says enough; yet still was crost,
When opportunities had promised most.
At last I said, what mean'st thou, wandering elf,
To straggle thus ? Go travel first thyself.
Thy little world can show thee wonders great:
The greater may have more, but not more neat
And curious pieces. Search, and thou shalt find
Enough to talk of. If thou wilt, thy mind
Europe supplies, and Asia thy will,
And Afric thine affections. And if still
Thou list to travel further, put thy senses
For both the Indies. Make no more pretences
Of new discoveries, whilst yet thine own,
And nearest, little world is still unknown.
Away then with thy quadrants, compasses,
Globes, tables, cards, and maps, and minute glasses:
Lay by thy journals and thy diaries,
Close up thine annals and thine histories.
Study thyself, and read what thou hast writ
In thine own book, thy conscience. Is it fit
To labor after other knowledge so,
And thine own nearest, dearest self not know?
Travels abroad both dear and dangerous are,
Whilst oft the soul pays for the body's fare:
Travels at home are cheap, and safe. Salvation
Comes mounted on the wings of meditation.
He that doth live at home, and learns to know
God and himself, needeth no further go.
HERE is a land, of every land the pride,
Beloved by Heaven o'er all the world beside;
Where brighter suns dispense serener light,
And milder moons emparadise the night;
A land of beauty, virtue, valor, truth,
Time-tutored age, and love-exalted youth;
The wandering mariner, whose eye explores
The wealthiest isles, the most enchanting shores,
Views not a realm so bountiful and fair,
Nor breathes the spirit of a purer air;
In every clime the magnet of his soul,
Touched by remembrance, trembles to that pole;
For in this land of Heaven's peculiar grace,
The heritage of nature's noblest race,
There is a spot of earth supremely blest,
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