In the Land of Our Fathers

BLUE are the skies in the land of our fathers—

A blue of the beauteous sheen;

Through the clear of the air on the farthest horizon

The mountains of Judah are seen.

Broad are the dales in the land of our fathers,

Sweet with the fragrance of flowers;

Fair-smelling groves where the almond-trees murmur—

Vistas of grape-girded bowers.

High are the hills in the land of our fathers

To reach to the vaulting sky;

Israelites, sturdily tilling and reaping,

Are chanting their carols nearby.

Bright gleams the moon in the land of our fathers,

Aglint on the evening-dew,—

Through myriad stars the queen of the even

Sails on the sea of blue.

Fair are the babes in the land of our fathers,

Comely and gladsome and gay;—

Godly the words of the songs they are singing—

Sailing the ocean of blue.