IRELAND—1882.
"Island of Destiny! Innisfail!" they cried when their weary eyes
First looked on thy beauteous bosom from the amorous ocean rise.
"Island of Destiny! Innisfail!" we cry, dear land, to thee.
As the sun of thy future rises and reddens the western sea!
Pregnant as earth with its gold and gems and its metals strong and fine,
Is thy soul with its ardors and fancies and sympathies divine.
Mustard seed of the nations! they scattered thy leaves to the air.
But the ravisher pales at the harvest that flourishes everywhere.
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