Another lesson must the worldly learn,
From him who sought nor praise nor fame;
His birth, ten score agone, and still we turn
To him in reverence, his name is sweet
As vernal bloom, his life shows forth God's might,
Through him this soil received Faith's warm sunlight!
This beauteous land was strange, unknown and wild,
Spite all its treasures, lordly trees and flowers;
For tribes with pagan rites its wastes defiled,
Till came Spain's noble band of godly men,
Explorers true and zealous priests who gave
Their lives' best years, forgotten souls to save!
'Tis just we venerate each hallowed stone
Which rears the wond'rous "Temples of the West";
The tears, the toils, the nightly vigils lone;
The pilgrim-journeys of Saint Francis' sons,
The rescued souls by lustral waters cleansed,
The wealth of hospitality dispensed.
All this and more if but their walls could speak,
Would tell this day; and we in whose veins flows
The fervent blood of Spain, to us each streak
Of light which doth reveal a picture true
Of gentle friar and lovely vanished times
Is tender as the Angelus' sweet chimes.
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