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202 And younger hearts, when ours are hushed and cold, Be happy here as we have been of old.

Friends of the stage, who hail it as the shrine Where music, painting, poetry entwine Their kindred garlands, whence their blended power Refines, exalts, ennobles hour by hour The spirit of the land, and, like the wind, Unseen but felt, bears on the bark of mind; To you the hour that consecrates this dome, Will call up dreams of prouder hours to come, When some creating poet, born your own, May waken here the drama’s loftiest tone, Through after-years to echo loud and long, A Shakespeare of the West, a star of song, Bright’ning your own blue skies with living fire, All times to gladden and all tongues inspire, Far as beneath the heaven by sea-winds fanned, Floats the free banner of your native land.