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SOIL OF ENGLAND.
I bless thee, soil of England!
Where'er thy power prevails;
A grandeur robes thy greenwood—
A glory crowns thy dales!
Oh, place me wheresoe'er ye will,
With but one sod of thine,—
And Freedom's self shall hallow it,
As 'twere her native shrine!
Where'er thy power prevails;
A grandeur robes thy greenwood—
A glory crowns thy dales!
Oh, place me wheresoe'er ye will,
With but one sod of thine,—
And Freedom's self shall hallow it,
As 'twere her native shrine!
And Eloquence shall wreathe that soil
With England's proudest name;
And Nelson's spirit start therefrom,
In all its naval fame!
A sound shall thrill that sod of Earth
As swept a host to war;
And Wellington's unconquer'd sword
Gleam o'er it like a star!
With England's proudest name;
And Nelson's spirit start therefrom,
In all its naval fame!
A sound shall thrill that sod of Earth
As swept a host to war;
And Wellington's unconquer'd sword
Gleam o'er it like a star!
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Yes; all that elevates the soul
To things of higher worth;
The genius of my Native Land
Would grace that treasured Earth!
I need no charm of mount or vale,
No glimpse of England's sea—
A shred of her immortal soil
Is eloquent to me!
To things of higher worth;
The genius of my Native Land
Would grace that treasured Earth!
I need no charm of mount or vale,
No glimpse of England's sea—
A shred of her immortal soil
Is eloquent to me!
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