San Francisco

San Francisco.
6.5

O stricken San Francisco, thou
Fair queen of all the West!
Thy ruined homes, thy bleeding hearts,
The ories of thy distress’d,
Fill all the land with sorrow,
We mourn, as one, thy fate,
The gay voice hushed, the form now crushed,
Beside the Golden Gate.

Refrain-
O queen, arise! thy foe now lies
In chains upon our shore,
The sun shines bright and flowers bloom,
Just as they did before;
Both rich and poor, God’s children all,
Together, hand in hand,
With smile or tear, each other cheer,
As lined for bread they stand..

Peeress of flowers and sunshinel
Why weep among the dead?
From put their ashes will arise
The spirit that han fled;
For worn-out lands, like mortals,
Know darkness ere sunshine,
Thro’ mem’ry’s tears we’ll count thy years,
From good old forty-nine.

We love thee in thy sorrow,
We’ll bind thy silken tresses,
While thy heavy heavy heart doth rest:
In thy dreams will come a vision,
Sparkling like the early dew,
In beapty ripe, Madonna type,
Our San Francisco New.
-Margaret Gorman