Page:The works of Anna Laetitia Barbauld volume 1.djvu/320

236 Yet, O my Country, name beloved, revered, By every tie that binds the soul endeared, Whose image to my infant senses came Mixt with Religion's light and Freedom's holy flame! If prayers may not avert, if 'tis thy fate To rank amongst the names that once were great, Not like the dim, cold Crescent shalt thou fade, Thy debt to Science and the Muse unpaid; Thine are the laws surrounding states revere, Thine the full harvest of the mental year, Thine the bright stars in Glory's sky that shine, And arts that make it life to live are thine. If westward streams the light that leaves thy shores, Still from thy lamp the streaming radiance pours. Wide spreads thy race from Ganges to the pole, O'er half the western world thy accents roll: Nations beyond the Apalachian hills Thy hand has planted and thy spirit fills: