The American common-place book of poetry with occasional notes |
 |
My native Land—My native Place.—Anonymous.
|
 | The American common-place book of poetry |  |
My native Land—My native Place.—Anonymous.
My thoughts are in my native land,
My heart is in my native place,
Where willows bend to breezes bland,
And kiss the river's rippling face;
My heart is in my native place,
Where willows bend to breezes bland,
And kiss the river's rippling face;
Where sunny shrubs disperse their scent,
And raise their blossoms high to heaven,
As if in calm acknowledgment
For brilliant hues and virtues given.
And raise their blossoms high to heaven,
As if in calm acknowledgment
For brilliant hues and virtues given.
My thoughts are with my youthful days,
Where sin and grief were but a name;
When every field had golden ways,
And pleasure with the day-light came.
Where sin and grief were but a name;
When every field had golden ways,
And pleasure with the day-light came.
253
I bent the rushes to my feet,
And sought the water's silent flow,
I moved along the thin ice fleet,
Nor thought upon the death below.
And sought the water's silent flow,
I moved along the thin ice fleet,
Nor thought upon the death below.
I culled the violet in the dell,
Whose wild-rose gave a chequered shade,
And listened to each village bell,
So sweet by answering echo made.
Whose wild-rose gave a chequered shade,
And listened to each village bell,
So sweet by answering echo made.
In God's own house, on God's own day,
In neat attire, I bent the knee;
Pure sense of duty made me pray—
Joy made me join the melody.
In neat attire, I bent the knee;
Pure sense of duty made me pray—
Joy made me join the melody.
Thus Memory, from her treasured urn,
Shakes o'er the mind her spring like rain:
Thus scenes turn up and palely burn,
Like night-lights in the ocean's train.
Shakes o'er the mind her spring like rain:
Thus scenes turn up and palely burn,
Like night-lights in the ocean's train.
And still my soul shall these command,
While sorrow writes upon my face;
My thoughts are on my native land,
My heart is in my native place.
While sorrow writes upon my face;
My thoughts are on my native land,
My heart is in my native place.
| The American common-place book of poetry | |