I love my land from out whose fields
The oak-ribbed Alleghenies rise,
Where undulating furrows yield
Their whispering corn, and barefoot cries 
Of children ring against the skies.

Where summer on the Kansas plain
Crawls broad and fenceless up to meet 
The Rocky slope, restless with grain,
¡Where still the thunder's roar and beat
Echoes the drum of buffalo feet.

I love my land with a mountain man's passion 
For deep voiced hounds and fox in flight;
With the wilderness love that hews and fashions
Orchards and homes on the granite height —
That builds the beacons in American night;

With the love for incredible cities that grow 
Toward the sky, furious with sound, 
Teeming with strength they only know 
Who dream with hope - cities that found 
Prophecy and promise in American ground.

I know that evil in New York City 
Is as wrong as evil in Paris or Rome, 
That greed has neither love nor pity 
Because America is its home,
That deceit hides his rust with a coat of chrome;

But the wisdom born of pioneer mothers, 
By the shores of the Merrimack and Matuponi, 
That the children of earth can be friends and brothers 
Sings through this land like a pineleaf sigh:
It breaks like morning across the sky.