 | The Poems of Thomas Davis |  |
69
MY LAND.
I
She is a rich and rare land;Oh! she's a fresh and fair land;
She is a dear and rare land—
This native land of mine.
II
No men than her's are braver—Her women's hearts ne'er waver;
I'd freely die to save her,
And think my lot divine.
III
She's not a dull or cold land;No! she's a warm and bold land;
Oh! she's a true and old land—
This native land of mine.
IV
Could beauty ever guard her,And virtue still reward her,
No foe would cross her border—
No friend within it pine!
V
Oh, she's a fresh and fair land;Oh, she's a true and rare land!
Yes, she's a rare and fair land—
This native land of mine.
| The Poems of Thomas Davis | |