From rolling height to sandy shore,
And hail the beautiful and grand,
Blent with the softest light and shade,
In Freedom’s gold-encumbered land,
The seat of empire and of trade.
O’er Yerba Buena’s lonely isle
I watch the morning’s rosy smile;
And while it gilds the wave and mast,
From Contia Costa’s summit cast,
I think of those it woke before