’Round mossy banks in shady nooks,

In ripples flow thy babbling brooks,

Sweet music there in echo dwells,

As the bird-voiced chorus swells

Through leafy bow’rs and forest glade

’Neath spreading oak and maple shade.

Thy winding bays, thy lakes and rills,

Chant gladsome psalms, like sweetest trills

Of music singing through the trees,

Then dying as the wavering breeze,

Sighs where the monarchs of our land

In forests primeval stand.

’Mid verdure green the wild flow’rs grow,

In brightest colors, all aglow,

Sweet violets, roses, daisies meek,

Fair lilies floating in the creek

That curves the woodland path below,

The mountainside where laurels grow.

Fair Columbia, poets sing,

While laurel for thy brow we bring,

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