Where the rivers of the Southland
Seek the ever-shadeless seas
Branch and blossom quiver gently
In the sweetly scented breeze;
And the robin wooes his sweetheart,
Now in shadow, now in shine,
While the queen of the magnolias
Whispers love unto the pine.
In the summer's deepened twilight
Where the valiant legions trod
You can bear the holy vespers
Nature wafts unto her God;
Then you bow the knee in silence
And the cares of life resign,
Where the leaves of the magnolia
Touch the branches of the pine.
Hear their music, softly lifting,
When the winds of morning play,
And the chorus of the forest
Like an anthem floats away;
Where the mountains in their glory
Nature's loveliness enshrine,
Like a bride the fair magnolia
Nestles to the kingly pine.
Past them on its endless mission
With a trill the brooklet glides,
Bearing outward frond and blossom
To the bosom of the tides
While among their native mountains,
Clad in majesty divine,
Stand the beautiful magnolia
And the ever-princely pine.
Who would rob them of their story?
Who would seek to lay them low?
As they lift their heads in splendor
Nations come and nations go;
Empires rise and empires wither
Like the blossoms of the vine;
But the dews of heaven falleth
On magnolia and on pine.
T. C. Harbaugh
