158
TO ———.
Though my heart, as a captive, conceals its emotion, Believe me, it never has varied its tone;The chords that vibrate to the deepest devotion, Are swept by the hand of my country alone.
Go, ask of the Northmen who came to my home, If I to my country could treacherous prove;Go, ask them if I, for the wealth of a crown, Would ever desert the bright land that I love.
Oh, give me my country, in weal or in woe, In sorrow or gladness, in mourning or mirth;Though chained to the earth by a powerful foe, She still is my country—the land of my birth.
By all that is holy, celestial, and good; By every heart-rending and agonized thrill;Though her star of freedom should set in her blood, My true heart would cling to her faithfully still.
Yes, faithfully cling, with a love never spoken To idols it cherished in earliest youth;When Liberty's temple, unshaken, unbroken, Stood proudly erect in the land of the South.
