Page:Felicia Hemans in Forget Me Not 1827.pdf/4



For thine the Sabbath peace, my land; And thine the guarded hearth; And thine the dead, the noble band That make thee holy earth.

Their voices meet me in thy breeze; Their steps are on thy plains; Their names, by old majestic trees, Are whisper'd round thy fanes:

Their blood hath mingled with the tide Of thine exulting sea;— Oh, be it still a joy, a pride, To live and die for thee!