 | [Ode, in] Autumn leaves |  |
98
Ode
Joy to the pleasant land we love,
The land our fathers trod!
Joy to the land for which they won
“Freedom to worship God.”
The land our fathers trod!
Joy to the land for which they won
“Freedom to worship God.”
For peace on all its sunny hills
On every mountain broods
And sleeps by all its gushing rills,
And all its mighty floods.
On every mountain broods
And sleeps by all its gushing rills,
And all its mighty floods.
The wife sits meekly by the hearth,
Her infant child beside;
The father on his noble boy
Looks with a fearless pride.
Her infant child beside;
The father on his noble boy
Looks with a fearless pride.
The gray old man, beneath the tree,
Tales of his childhood tells;
And sweetly in the hush of morn
Peal out the Sabbath bells.
Tales of his childhood tells;
And sweetly in the hush of morn
Peal out the Sabbath bells.
And we are free—but is there not,
One blot upon our name?
Is our proud record written fair
Upon the scroll of fame?
One blot upon our name?
Is our proud record written fair
Upon the scroll of fame?
Our banner floateth by the shore,
Our flag upon the sea;
But when the fettered slave is loosed,
We shall be truly free.
Our flag upon the sea;
But when the fettered slave is loosed,
We shall be truly free.
| [Ode, in] Autumn leaves | |