Our coun­try, un­ri­valed in beau­ty
And splen­dor that can­not be told,
How love­ly thy hills and thy wood­lands,
Arrayed in a sun­light of gold.
The ea­gle, proud king of the mount­ain,
Is soar­ing, ma­jes­tic and free;
Thy ri­vers and lakes in their gran­deur,
Roll on to the arms of the sea;
Roll on to the arms of the sea.

Our coun­try, the birth­place of free­dom,
The land where our fore­fa­thers trod,
And sang in the isles of the for­est
Their hymn of thanks­giv­ing to God;
Their bark they had moored in the har­bor,
No more on the ocean to roam;
And there in the wilds of New Eng­land,
They found­ed a coun­try and home,
They found­ed a coun­try and home.

Our coun­try, the past, and its glo­ry,
Still hon­or the names of thy dead;
The states­men that crowned thee with laur­el,
The he­roes and vet­er­ans that bled.
Mount Ver­non, where Wash­ing­ton slum­bers,
The soul of thy free­dom for years,
A wil­low droops ten­der­ly ever,
Go hal­low his grave with thy tears,
Go hal­low his grave with thy tears.

Our coun­try, with ar­dent de­vo­tion,
In God may thy child­ren abide;
In Him be the strength of our na­tion,
His laws and its coun­sel our guide.
Our ban­ner, that time-hon­ored ban­ner,
That floats o’er the ocean’s bright foam,
God keep them un­sul­lied for­ev­er,
Our stand­ard, our un­ion, our home,
Our stand­ard, our un­ion, our home.