Page:National Lyrics.pdf/241

Rh

I bless thee!—yet not for the beauty which dwells In the heart of thy hills, on the rocks of thy shore; And not for the memory set deep in thy dells, Of the bard and the hero, the mighty of yore; And not for thy songs of those proud ages fled, —Green land, Poet-land of my home and my dead!

I bless thee for all the true bosoms that beat, Where'er a low hamlet smiles up to thy skies, For thy cottage hearths, burning the stranger to greet, For the soul that shines forth from thy children’s kind eyes! May the blessing, like sunshine, about thee be spread, Green land of my childhood, my home, and my dead!