LIKE some pure thought, by unknown lips let fall...

LIKE some pure thought, by unknown lips let fall,

Which grows, and bears abroad, rich truths for all,

So fell a seed by Yerba Buena cove,

And, like a giant young, who smiling lies,

Nor heeds the dormant powers, so soon to rise —

So lay this seed — a village fair —

A score of years, then forth a city came,

And cast aside its quaint old Spanish name

For San Francisco, Western Queen!

And, like the saint whose name it proudly boasts,

A friend to all who come within its posts —

This city with a gate of gold.

When dust-stained, “desert ships” came halting in,

Her gates swung wide, and friendly welcome gave

Those sun-kissed valiant pioneers.

While ocean ships, wind-tossed around Cape Horn,

Oft refuge found within her harbor calm,

Protected by her queenly grace.