This is a poem written in childhood.
(This is another poem from childhood.)
Beyond majestic mountains high
golden fields of grain do lie.
Upon the face of stretching plains
rise mighty cities where refrains
ever musical do swell
as, in melody, they tell
endless tales of valor bold.
In the towns and cities old
lying in that sea of grain
dwells the heart and freedom's strain.
Ringing loud from mount to sea
it offers all humanity
equal rights and liberty.
Ever more shall live its fame --
My America is its name.