The Native


Native! Native! Shy of sight.
Care exceeds all must and might.
On what soil nurses dearly
Could feed roots to every near?

In which low or high
Bestowed beauty of thine sky?
What land dare he lie?
Which wings he chose to fly?

And what sea and each beneath
Could separate hands held so deep?
And when the mountains spread their power
What thanks given to devour?

What the day? What the night?
In which breath fills delight?
What the stars? What the sun?
Whisper grace to each and one.

Native! Native! Shine thy sight!
Care exceeds all must and might.
On what soil nurses dearly
Could feed roots to every near?

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