All is fair—the sage's breast,
Swells with joy to hail each guest—
Comes he, from these sounding shores,
Or the North God's icy stores,
Where the shivering children cry,
In their snow-cots and bleak sky;
Or the far receding south,
Burned with heat, and palsied drought,
All are welcome—all receive,
Gifts great Chibiabos gives.