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every soul is weak, and set On selfish aims, since men forget The true, the pure, the great, the bright, Instincts, at wrong, that chafe and swell, Honour and glory, law and right, And those who in the contest fell;

I love thee, Exile, with thy frown! O Care,—be thou my thorny crown! Welcome, thrice haughty Indigence! All hail, thou door that rough winds beat! And thou, O Sorrow, take thy seat Grave statue at my hearth, from hence!

I love the anguish sent to try! For in its shadows draw more nigh Those that my heart delights to see: Faith, Virtue, Dignity, in turn, Freedom, the exile proud and stern, And Loyalty, the refugee!

I love this isle of rocks and caves; Jersey, my Patmos,—o'er thee waves Free England's banner, grand and old!