The magic of Glory unfurls in splendor - Shouting with glee from majestic mountains Or whispering noble truths in the tranquil murmur of a sylvan spring.
Glory shines in the wrinkled brows Of our ancient ones - seasoned By the patient school of time.
Glory trembles in the stormy roar Of a virulent summer shower That brings life - sustaining rain To every strain of flora and fauna.
We hear Glory in the ecstasy of children Giggling down the grassy hills Under a sun-splendored sky.
In deepest night we gaze upward At the mysterious canopy Where the moon dances between the stars And tunes us to our grateful anthem: