Athwart fleecy clouds gliding over the hills,
'Midst the fragrance of pines and the murmur of rills.
"A land of bright sunsets, whose glories extend
From horizon to zenith, there richly to blend
The hues of the rainbow, with clouds passing by—
Right well art thou christened 'The Land of the Sky.'
"A land of pure water, as pure as the air;
A home for the feeble, a home for the fair;
Where the wild roses bloom, while their fragrance combines
With health-giving odors from balsamic pines.