| |
| MY native isle! my native isle! | |
| Forever round thy sunny steep | |
| The low waves curl, with sparkling foam, | |
| And solemn murmurs deep; | |
| While o’er the surging waters blue | 5 |
| The ceaseless breezes throng, | |
| And in the grand old woods awake | |
| An everlasting song. | |
| |
| The sordid strife and petty cares | |
| That crowd the city’s street, | 10 |
| The rush, the race, the storm of Life, | |
| Upon thee never meet; | |
| But quiet and contented hearts | |
| Their daily tasks fulfil, | |
| And meet with simple hope and trust | 15 |
| The coming good or ill. | |
| |
| The spireless church stands, plain and brown, | |
| The winding road beside; | |
| The green graves rise in silence near, | |
| With moss-grown tablets wide; | 20 |
| And early on the Sabbath morn, | |
| Along the flowery sod, | |
| Unfettered souls, with humble prayer, | |
| Go up to worship God. | |
| |
| And dearer far than sculptured fane | 25 |
| Is that gray church to me, | |
| For in its shade my mother sleeps, | |
| Beneath the willow-tree; | |
| And often, when my heart is raised | |
| By sermon and by song, | 30 |
| Her friendly smile appears to me | |
| From the seraphic throng. | |
| |
| The sunset glow, the moonlit stream, | |
| Part of my being are; | |
| The fairy flowers that bloom and die, | 35 |
| The skies so clear and far: | |
| The stars that circle Night’s dark brow, | |
| The winds and waters free, | |
| Each with a lesson all its own, | |
| Are monitors to me. | 40 |
| |
| The systems in their endless march | |
| Eternal truth proclaim; | |
| The flowers God’s love from day to day | |
| In gentlest accents name; | |
| The skies for burdened hearts and faint | 45 |
| A code of Faith prepare; | |
| What tempest ever left the Heaven | |
| Without a blue spot there? | |
| |
| My native isle! my native isle! | |
| In sunnier climes I ’ve strayed, | 50 |
| But better love thy pebbled beach | |
| And lonely forest glade, | |
| Where low winds stir with fragrant breath | |
| The purple violet’s head, | |
| And the star-grass in the early Spring | 55 |
| Peeps from the sere leaf’s bed. | |
| |
| I would no more of strife and tears | |
| Might on thee ever meet, | |
| But when against the tide of years | |
| This heart hath ceased to beat, | 60 |
| Where the green weeping-willows bend | |
| I fain would go to rest, | |
| Where waters chant, and winds may sweep | |
| Above my peaceful breast. | |
| |
