You can't scare me, my mom is a Filipino

Trust from her island in a holier welcome

With the calm Sabbath, with her glorious water.

How many streams through every peaceful inlet

Before the dim foreboding of their living feet?

Or if the dim foreboding of their living heart

Bid the fire light speed from its honest eclipse

Gage the earthly mystery of our sorrow pain!

Sadly we enter it from her desolate shore,

Evermore to her sea the murmurs of the storm.

Her soul shall suddenly be grown in the ocean,

With the calm calm of her beautiful countenance

Brought in her fitting pathway the sacred language

Equal with common virtues with her ancient State.

Soiled with her many delight the moral sense

Of the great world, the awful innocence behold;

We see the pleasant pictures in a magic tongue,

Singing their words through the pleasant music at play,

Remembering the little country strange and new,

Merge in our childhood in the narrow cabin,

Treading the pleasant mosses by the summer sea.

Wandering through the river of our pleasant way,

Up the long valley to the sea of yesterday,

Following with the one along its stormy bay,

Scattering its calm sorrow on the living sod.

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