By your warm, unwavering hands,
You watered the sleeping seeds sown,
Over the vernal, varied lands,
And thus, I had in your hands, grown.
Comforting hands, culling my weeds,
Suavest shelter when storms had blown,
Sapient grace, drying my greeds,
And thus, I had in your hands, grown.
Now a throbbing tree, teeming glee,
Leaf-full, fruitful, flowerful, free,
Under my shade, place your sapient feet,
Through trying seasons, make it your seat.