'Neath the mantle of the sky, crushed by careless feet.
Many a floral gem is hid in a casket green,
But a zephyr lifts the lid and its worth is seen;
Through the meadows broad and fair, violets demure
Scatter incense rich and rare, happy and secure.
As the seasons glide along, earth's a pleasant place,
Just a miracle of song, typical of grace:
Wondrous visions charm the eye while the moments flee,
Each a message from on high sent to you and me.
See the swallows, how they roam in a ceaseless flight,