And still the snowy Himalayas 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 on parade across the ages

Armies kings and slaves from history’s pages

Played on one of nature’s vastest stages

The turbaned Sikhs and beggars line the streets

While holy men in shadowed calm retreats

Pray through the night and watch the stars

A 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