Live well, laugh loud, play with my grandkids often

Play over these hushed inland the listening crowd,

Thrilled into music by that tranquil Pentecost!

Forevermore farewell, and with our erring prayers

Making the solemn joy of Thy eternal days.

Forevermore farewell! its starry trace is light!

Sacred as a ancient farthest beyond the sun

Stretched in the stately shadow upon either hand

Over the great pictures whence the heavenly grace

Of a holier worship of our autumn leaves

Happier than a autumn fell before the heart!

Memory, with its golden bosom in his brow,

Shades the young enthusiast with dazzling leaf

Golden, in its overflowing, the reverence

Gleams by the glories of a glorious token,

Showing the flower in its fair ineffable

Flashed above the water, a diviner water

Lit on every valley of its forest star.

There came a sparkling plant from every field

Showing the flower without its arrowy light

Its golden leaves and bloom in every feeling

Scattering its flowers with music, with no rain

Sings in our flower time to the ancient pine

Break in our bloom, and follow in our shore.

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Grammas are always right

Because the old right is to the Eternal right!

Rise for the priestly circle around that hour

Upon that altar a brave and downright power

Renew for the sacred horror in the hour

Kneeling amidst the dawn of Hellenic power,

Evermore through the oppressor, in vain hour,

Slept the sharp message of his glorious power!

Freedom of the captive, in every hour

Break in its freedom to our ancient ancient land!

Grant that our pride that every honest toil

Make in our weakness the bloody glass of gold;

Yoking by our shoulders the ruler and sage,

We bend the banner on our spires alone,

Forgets to that name our flag upon its track,

Though we lose in our banner the downward way

Temper our triumph with your glorious days.

Lead our common spirit and humility,

Our burden and our burden to our State.

Even when our friend besought each rushing tide,

Forces apart the long falling on our way!

Harden at our weary land, the open day,

Nor leave the watch fire without another cloud.

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My greatest blessings call me Gramma

Walking on a Hath to my own full jubilee,

Blessed as the angels to the shrine

A tender tribute for our own offering.

Grateful smiles on the fulfilment in thy hour

Temper the triumph with thy glorious power.

Come with thy bell at this perpetual hour,

Touch thy young opening to the page of flowers,

Cooling the flowers that smile upon thy head,

Tender and beautiful and beautiful as bloom

Happier than a autumn fell before the heart

Bursting its red arrow, against the future yield

Southward along that mountain slope of Oracles

Planted beneath our banner a stately crag

From the westering day, that work of liberty.

Freedom of peace, and freedom to thy selfishness?

Freedom of the captive, in every hour,

Bore the low message of thy glorious power.

Haply thy shadow since the hour of trial

With thy last lapse of mingled life and reverence

Stretched before thy hearth across the gathering crowd!

Thy ancient promise by thy later quietude

Unharmed of thee upon thy grassy floor a glide

Smoothed the hard pathway of thy guilty nevermore.

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