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OUR NATIVE LAND.
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 


220

OUR NATIVE LAND.

In this vast rising empire of the west,
With freedom, science, fame, and plenty blest,
Where earthly comforts in profusion flow,
Each virtuous bosom must with rapture glow;
For here, where Liberty her fane has built,
No grief is found, but in the path of guilt;
No pains, nor fears, the good man's heart annoy,
No tears are shed but those of sympathy or joy.