THE LAND OF OUR BIRTH.

O! where is the land that each mortal loves best, The land that is dearest and fairest on earth? It is North, it is South, it is East, it is West; For this beautiful land is the land of our birth. 'Tis the home of our childhood; the fragrance and dew Of our innocent days are all linked with the spot; And its fields were so green, and its mountains so blue, That our hearts must be cold ere that land is forgot. We have wandered, perchance, far away from the place, But how often we see it in thought and in dreams! Feel its winds, as of old, blowing cool on our face, Hear the songs of its birds, and the plash of its streams. We may build grander homes than the home of our youth, On far loftier objects our eyes may be cast; But we never forget all its love and its truth; It has charms that will hallow it unto the last. We may learn other tongues, but that language is best That we lisped with our mothers in infancy's days— The language she sung when she rocked us to rest, And gave us good counsel and comfort and praise. We may love other lands, but wherever we be The land that is greenest and fairest on earth Is the one that, perhaps, we may never more see— The home of our fathers—the land of our birth. May its daughters and sons grow in beauty and worth! May the blessing of God give it freedom and rest! Be it northward, or southward, or eastward, or west, The land of our birth is of all lands the best.