May it stand by storms unblighted,
    May it grow from more to more!

  THE MOTHER

  Mother Earth, O hear my word! 
    Guard the tender nursling now. 
  Thou that lead’st the speckled herd,
    God of the fields, to thee we bow!

  THE MAIDEN

  Gentle Dryads, guard its growing,
    Guard it, guard it, Pan most high! 
  Mountain nymphs, your gifts bestowing,
  Shield it when the storms are blowing—­
    Bid their fury pass it by!

  ALL

  Gentle Dryads, guard its growing,
    Guard it, guard it, Pan most high!

  THE YOUTH

  May kind skies smile down upon it,
    Always clear and always blue! 
  Sun, send out thy softest radiance! 
    Feed it, Earth, with all thy dew!

  ALL

  Sun, send out thy softest radiance! 
    Feed it, Earth, with all thy dew!

  THE FATHER

  Joy, sweet joy, and life new-springing
  May’st thou still to all be bringing—­
    Joy it was that set thee here. 
  May thy gifts of nectar gather
  Children’s children, like their father,
    And all bless thee for thy cheer!

  ALL

  Joy, sweet joy, and life new-springing
  May’st thou still to all be bringing—­
    Joy it was that set thee here!

[They dance in picturesque groups around the tree.  The orchestral music accompanies the dance, and gradually passes into a more elevated style, as there appear in the background from above GENIUS and the Goddesses of the Seven Arts.  The country people retire to the sides of the stage, GENIUS comes down to the centre, with PAINTING, SCULPTURE, and ARCHITECTURE on his right, POETRY, DRAMA, MUSIC, and DANCING on his left.]

  [Illustration:  THE HOMAGE OF THE ARTS HERM.  MISDICEMUS]

  THE ARTS

  We come from a far land—­
  Still wandering, roaming
  From people to people,
  From ages to ages;
  We are seeking a home that shall always endure—­
  In peaceful possession
  To find our expression,
  In stillness creating,
  No power abating—­
  Yet we still seek in vain for a dwelling secure.

  THE YOUTH

  Who are these my eyes behold,
    Like a troop of fairies nigh—­
  Forms whose beauty ne’er was told! 
    Beats my heart, I know not why!

GENIUS

  Where weapons are clashing
    And trumpets are blown,
  Where hearts are with hate and with madness o’erflowing,
  Where mortals are wand’ring, their goal never knowing,
    Thence turn we our footsteps, in haste to be gone.

  ARTS

  We hate the deceivers,
    Despisers of heaven;
  We seek among mortals
    Who to virtue are given. 
  Where pure hearts have welcome
    To give to a friend,
  We will build habitations
    To dwell without end.