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.
A SHORT PRAYER
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.
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