The golden fleece is at our feet, Our hills are girt in sheen of gold; Our golden flower-fields are sweet With honey hives. A thousand-fold More fair our fruits on laden stem Than Jordan tow'rd Jerusalem. Behold this mighty sea of seas! The ages pass in silence by. Gold apples of Hesperides Hang at our God-land gates for aye. Our golden shores have golden keys Where sound and sing the Balboa seas. |