Page:The Soul of a Century.djvu/19

  The home of my dreams is post yon stream Beneath a mountain, in a tree, Where high above, the tall oaks seem To weave a shady roof for me.

When the stillness, soft, appealing, Settles in yon airy height, When the passing day is stealing Over hill and dale in fright.

Holy stillness nearer, nearer, O’er my head I hear it clearer, ’tis the flow of time that stole Through my languid, dreaming soul.

God Almighty please preserve Our mead and plain; Bless our work at Harvest time With a golden grain. Guard our roofs against all flames And from hates, that flare anew, And for ages long preserve All Czechs, forever true.