O glorious mom in mountain land!
O glorious sun upon the hills!
The bare remembrance of thee thrills
My frame all through from foot to hand.
Pushing aside the fleecy robe
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Of courtly hue that graced thy bed,
And mounting unaccompanied,
The great sole monarch of the globe,
I half believe I see a band
Far on the Southern mountains' crest,
In ancient Manco's blessed land,
On Andes' plains with brown bared breast,
Bowing in homage to thy flame,
And muttering low great Inti's name.
Upon my knees with them I fall,
And kiss my hand to thee; adore,
As never I have done before,
The One who made thee, me, and all.
E. F. F.