"Song of India"
Lyrics: Johnny Mercer
Music: Nikolai Rimsky-Korsakov
And still the snowy Himalyas rise,
In ancient majesty before our eyes,
Beyond the plains, above the pines.
While through the ever never changing land,
As silently as any native band,
That moves at night, the Ganges shines.
Then I hear the song that only India can sing,
Softer than the plumage on a black raven's wing.
High upon a minaret I stand
And gaze across the desert sand,
Upon an old enchanted land.
There's the Maharaja's caravan,
Unfolding like a painted fan,
How small the little race of man.
See them all parade across the ages,
All these kings and slaves from history's pages,
Played on one of nature's vastest stages.
The turbaned Sihks and beggars line the streets,
While holy men in shadowed calm retreats,
Pray through the night and watch the stars,
The lonely plane flies off to meet the dawn,
While down below the busy life goes on,
And women crowd the old bazaars.
All are in the song that only India can sing,
India, the jewel of the East.