I love my country's pine-clad hills, Her thousand
bright and gushing rills, Her sunshine and her storms;
Her rough and rugged rocks, that rear Their hoary
heads high in the air In wild, fantastic forms.
I love her rivers, deep and wide, Those mighty
streams that seaward glide To seek the ocean's breast;
Her smiling fields, her pleasant vales, Her shady
dells, her flowery dales, The haunts of peaceful
rest.
I love her forests, dark and lone, For
there the wild bird's merry tone I hear from morn
till night; And there are lovelier flowers, I ween,
Than e'er in Eastern lands were seen, In varied colors
bright.
Her forests and her valleys fair,
Her flowers that scent the morning air-- All have
their charms for me; But more I love my country's
name, Those words that echo deathless fame, The
Land of Liberty.