This world so beautiful and fair,A mother kind beyond compare;
In her deep valleys everywhereAll hues of paradise are there.
Her rock midst sands—a sign to see,A verse of majesty in she;
Her air enchants the fantasy,Glory to He who wove the lea.
She is a happy dream indeed,Cheering the weary soul in need;
Her art is magic newly born,Her scent a noble fragrance worn.
And birds that sing with voices bright,Like lovely maidens in delight;
Rejoicing, merry, free from care,Their voices heal the sick with prayer.
An hour at her sunrise glowGrants the soul its healing flow;
Glory to my Lord who loved her so,Eternal paradise below.
Book Details 
