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22. MY FATHERLAND.

FAITHFUL love till death enduring,
Pledge I thee with heart and hand;
All my being, all my having,
Owe I thee, my fatherland.

Not in words and ditties only,

Would my heart my thanks outpour, For with deeds I fain would prove it, In the dark, fierce strife of war.

So in joy and so in sorrow,

Friend and foe, I'll tell it now,
We for aye are bound together,
And my pride and joy art thou.

Faithful love till death enduring,
Pledge I thee with heart and hand,
All my being, all my having,
Owe I thee, my fatherland.

HOFFMANN VON FALLERSLEBEN

23. HOME.

WHERE burns the loved hearth brightest,

Cheering the social breast?

Where beats the fond heart lightest,

Its humblest hopes possessed?

Where is the smile of sadness,

Of meek-eyed patience born, Worth more than those of gladness,

Which mirth's bright cheeks adorn?

Pleasure is marked by fleetness

To those who ever roam; While grief itself has sweetness At Home, dear Home!

There blend the ties that strengthen

Our hearts in hours of grief,
The silver links that lengthen
Joy's visits when most brief.
There eyes in all their splendor
Are vocal to the heart,
And gladness, gay or tender,
Fresh eloquence impart.
Then dost thou sigh for pleasure;
Oh, do not widely roam,
But seek that hidden treasure
At Home, dear Home!

Does pure religion charm thee

Far more than aught below?
Wouldst thou that she should arm thee
Against the hour of woe?
Think not that she dwelleth only

In temples built for prayer;

For home itself is lonely

Unless her smiles be there.

The devotee may falter,
The bigot blindly roam,
If worshipless her altar

At Home, dear Home!

Love over it presideth

With meek and watchful awe;

Its daily service guideth,

And shows its perfect law.

If there thy faith shall fail thee,
If there no shrine be found,
What can thy prayers avail thee,
With kneeling crowds around?
Go, leave thy gift unoffered
Beneath Religion's dome,
And be her first-fruits offered

At Home, dear Home !

BERNARD BARTON

24. HOME! HOME! SWEET HOME!

'MID pleasures and palaces though we may roam,
Be it ever so humble, there's no place like home.
A charm from the skies seems to hallow us there,
Which, seek through the world, is ne'er met with elsewhere.
Home home! sweet home!

There's no place like home!

An exile from home, splendor dazzles in vain.
Oh, give me my lowly thatched cottage again !
The birds singing gayly, that came at my call!
Give me these with that peace of mind, dearer than all!
Home! home! sweet home!

There's no place like home!

JOHN HOWARD PAYNE.

25. LOVE OF COUNTRY.

BREATHES there the man, with soul so dead,
Who never to himself hath said,

"This is my own, my native land!"
Whose heart hath ne'er within him burned,
As home his footsteps he hath turned

From wandering on a foreign strand?
If such there breathe, go, mark him well;
For him no minstrel raptures swell;
High though his titles, proud his name,
Boundless his wealth as wish could claim,-
Despite those titles, power, and pelf,
The wretch, concentred all in self,
Living, shall forfeit fair renown,
And, doubly dying, shall go down
To the vile dust, from whence he sprung,
Unwept, unhonored, and unsung.

SIR WALTER SCOTT.

PART IV.

AMERICAN INDEPENDENCE.

1. SEVENTY-SIX.

WHAT heroes from the woodland sprung,
When, from the fresh-awakened land,

The thrilling cry of Freedom rung,
And to the work of warfare strung
The yeoman's iron hand!

Hills flung the cry to hills around,
And ocean-mart replied to mart ;

And streams, whose springs were yet unfound,
Pealed far away the startling sound

Into the forest's heart.

Then marched the brave from rocky steep,

From mountain river swift and cold;

The borders of the stormy deep,

The vales where gathered waters sleep,
Sent up the strong and bold,

As if the very earth again

Grew quick with God's creating breath,
And from the sods of grove and glen
Rose ranks of lion-hearted men,

To battle to the death.

Already had the strife begun :

Already blood on Concord's plain
Along the springing grass had run,
And blood had flowed at Lexington,
Like brooks of April rain.

That death-stain on the vernal sward
Hallowed to Freedom all the shore:
In fragments fell the yoke abhorred;
The footsteps of a foreign lord

Profaned the soil no more.

WILLIAM CULLEN BRYANT.

2. INDEPENDENCE DAY.

THE United States is the only country with a known. birthday. All the rest begun, they know not when, and grew into power, they know not how. If there had been no Independence Day, England and America combined would not be so great as each actually is. There is no "Republican," no "Democrat," on the Fourth of July, all are Americans. All feel that their country is greater than party.

JAMES GILLESPIE BLAINE.

AMERICA AN AGGREGATE OF NATIONS.

GIANT aggregate of nations, glorious whole, of glorious parts,
Unto endless generations live united, hands and hearts.
Be it storm or summer weather, peaceful calm or battle-jar,
Stand in beauteous strength together, sister States, as now
ye are.

MARTIN FARquhar TuppeR.

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