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On The Train
To strands held by strangers I come with a love
That streams in the tenderest tones,
Yet green are far hillocks that grip at my heart
The graves of my ancestors' bones.
I know why that homeland has held me so close;
For hued with the mem'ries of yore
Each vista of earth bears a voice from the past
By valley and mountain and shore;
And out of those voices comes strength for the strife,
The strain that man's living requires;
Even so is the sanction that every land gives
Long sacred to mothers and sires.
Excerpt from poem "On the Train"
by Stephan G. Stephansson
(translated by Watson Kirkconnell)