CELEBRATION DAY.
I sing, but not as those who sang
Of battles fought, of victories won,
When freedom's voice triumphant rang
In thunder, for the work well done.
I love that theme of other times
Whose spell around my heart is thrown,
And more, far more than other climes
Love I the land I call my own;
Yet not for these I weave the song,
And not for these I wake the lay:
To thee, the lost! these strains belong,
To thee I consecrate the day!
Of battles fought, of victories won,
When freedom's voice triumphant rang
In thunder, for the work well done.
I love that theme of other times
Whose spell around my heart is thrown,
And more, far more than other climes
Love I the land I call my own;
Yet not for these I weave the song,
And not for these I wake the lay:
To thee, the lost! these strains belong,
To thee I consecrate the day!
Three years have passed, three years have sent
Their shadows o'er the thronging earth;
The voices of three years have blent
Their mingled tones of grief and mirth.
Oh! heard'st thou not the solemn strain,
And heard'st thou not the tuneful lay?
Could not thy spirit burst the chain
That fettered it so far away.
Their shadows o'er the thronging earth;
The voices of three years have blent
Their mingled tones of grief and mirth.
Oh! heard'st thou not the solemn strain,
And heard'st thou not the tuneful lay?
Could not thy spirit burst the chain
That fettered it so far away.
