We sing the praise of Water;
Come, every son and daughter
Of Freedom's land!
With such a theme before us,
With God's great shield held o'er us,
Who will not join the chorus
Of our young band?
Yon silver fountain's basin,
'T is sweet to see thy face in,
Fair harvest moon!
And, when the sun has shone in,
On the white pebbles thrown in,
'T is sweet to see our own in,
At sultry noon.
Sweet is the light that quivers
On water brooks and rivers;
Fresh are the trees
Whose feet the wave caresses,
And fresh the bloom that dresses
Their loose and fragrant tresses
For evening's breeze.
Grateful the cloud that over
Wide fields of blooming clover
Swims, charged with rain;
Grateful the rill that gushes
From heights where day first blushes,
And down the hill-side rushes
To bless the plain.
Streams of the wood-crowned mountain,
Children of cloud and fountain,
Who dance and sing
O'er snow-beds iced and glossy,
O'er rocks with green tufts bossy,
Down paths all clean and mossy!
Your tribute bring.
To all earth's sons and daughters
'The circuit of the waters'
Gives joy and health;
Floats the gay barge of pleasure,
And, without stint or measure,
Wafts on that heavenly treasure,
True Wisdom's Wealth.