As down a lone valley with cedars o’erspread,
From war’s dread confusion I pensively stray’d,
The gloom from the face of fair heaven retir’d,
The winds hush’d their murmurs, the thunders expir’d.
Perfumes as of Eden flow’d sweetly along,
A voice as of angels enchantingly sung,
Columbia, Columbia to glory arise,
The queen of the world and the child of the skies.