Читать книгу Fourth Reader - Various - Страница 21

There is a land, of every land the pride,

Beloved of Heaven o’er all the world beside,

Where brighter suns dispense serener light,

And milder moons imparadise the night;

A land of beauty, virtue, valor, truth,

Time-tutored age, and love-exalted youth.

The wandering mariner, whose eye explores

The wealthiest isles, the most enchanting shores,

Views not a realm so beautiful and fair,

Nor breathes the spirit of a purer air.

In every clime, the magnet of his soul,

Touched by remembrance, trembles to that pole;

For in this land of Heaven’s peculiar race,

The heritage of Nature’s noblest grace,

There is a spot of earth supremely blest,

A dearer, sweeter spot than all the rest,

Where man, creation’s tyrant, casts aside

His sword and sceptre, pageantry and pride,

While in his softened looks benignly blend

The sire, the son, the husband, brother, friend.

Here woman reigns; the mother, daughter, wife,

Strew with fresh flowers the narrow way of life;

In the clear heaven of her delightful eye

The angel-guard of love and graces lie;

Around her knees domestic duties meet,

And fireside pleasures gambol at her feet.

Where shall that land, that spot of earth be found?

Art thou a man? – a patriot? – look around;

Oh, thou shalt find, howe’er thy footsteps roam,

That land thy country, and that spot thy home.

What’s brave, what’s noble, let’s do it.