My Little Song (II)
For the country dear where but a crumb of bread
Up from the ground with reverence we heave,
Adoring thus the Boon by Heaven spread...
O Lord I grieve...
And for the land where storks nests to destroy
As a serious misdeed we do perceive,
For they provide us all with mirth and joy...
O Lord I grieve...
And for the country where each greeting nod