| |
| ROCKS of my country! let the cloud | |
| Your crested heights array, | |
| And rise ye like a fortress proud | |
| Above the surge and spray! | |
| |
| My spirit greets you as ye stand | 5 |
| Breasting the billow’s foam: | |
| O, thus forever guard the land, | |
| The severed land of home! | |
| |
| I have left rich blue skies behind, | |
| Lighting up classic shrines, | 10 |
| And music in the southern wind, | |
| And sunshine on the vines. | |
| |
| The breathings of the myrtle flowers | |
| Have floated o’er my way; | |
| The pilgrim’s voice, at vesper hours, | 15 |
| Hath soothed me with its lay. | |
| |
| The isles of Greece, the hills of Spain, | |
| The purple heavens of Rome,— | |
| Yes, all are glorious; yet again | |
| I bless thee, land of home! | 20 |
| |
| 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, | 25 |
| Their steps are on thy plains; | |
| Their names, by old majestic trees, | |
| Are whispered round thy fanes. | |
| |
| Their blood hath mingled with the tide | |
| Of thine exulting sea; | 30 |
| O, be it still a joy, a pride, | |
| To live and die for thee! | |
| |
