When darkness envelops creation,
And shadows lie deep on the plain,
I sit in my rude habitation
And ponder my childhood again;
Then voices come out of the distance,
Far voices from over the sea,
They call from the depths of existence—
I know they are calling to me!
The voices of song and of motion,
The voices of laughter and light,
They're calling from over the ocean—
Oh, God! could I answer to-night!
The voices of friend and of lover,
The voices I knew in the past—
I turn to my pallet to smother
The thoughts that have found me at last!
* * * * * * * Greater than the measure of the heroes of renown,
He is building for the future, and no hand can hold him down;
Though they count him but a common man, he holds the Outer Gate,
And posterity will own him as the father of the State.
You may tell in fondest phrases
How Venetian glory raises
Sunlit domes and basking marbles as her streets flow to the sea;
Sing of Florence or Geneva
Or the Bay of Naples; weave a
Web of sentiment—but leave a
Little sentiment for me.
Where the warm Atlantic waters
Lave your laughing sons and daughters
By a hundred sunny cities where her tides flow full and free,
Or on Caribbean beaches
While the water pulls and reaches
At your heart-strings—in your speeches
Save a sentiment for me.
San Francisco's golden fulgor,
Catalina's horticulture,
Every symphony of gladness, every gaiety there be;
Every land and every nation
Somewhere claim your admiration:
From your meed of approbation
Save your fealty to me.
* * * * * * *