Evening winds are breathing,
Through the forest green;
Crimson clouds are wreathing,
In the sky, serene.

Trees, so tall and branching,
Relics of the past,
In the soft breeze waving,
Roaring in the blast,

Bloom in future ages,
Bloom in Freedom's light;
Though the tempest rages,
Stand in all your might.

Native land, so lovely,
Bright thy beauties are;
Long may noon beam o'er thee,
Let thy night be far.

On thy rising glories,
Let the clear light glow,
Clearer than the mid-day,
On the spotless snow.