Behold Ye Here the Happy Hunting Grounds,

Where the Great Spirit, called Democracy,

Sets every heart and soul forever free,

An Equity, not royal grant, sets bounds.

No Phaeton attempting Phoebus rounds

And burning up earth's grass and forestry,

Is lust for power; 'tis love for liberty,

With bloom and birds for wheel-sparks, here resounds.

It is the land of Spirit. "Ye who enter,

Abandon first all fratricidal hate,"

Proclaims the edict, blazoned o'er each gate.

There see all tribes chase truth to joy—the center

Convexing broad and broader, as more great

Their numbers from where prejudice is mentor.