I LOVE THE LAND WHERE I WAS BORN.
[The following poem appeared in the Sherbrooke (P. Q.) Gazette, sometime in the winter of 1863, and was the last article prepared by Miss JOHNSON for the press. It is of special interest for having been written during the dark days of the war in the United States, and when the sympathy of England and Canada for the North was by many questioned.]
I love the land where I was born,
'Tis a noble land and good;
It has many a field of wheat and corn
Where once the forest stood;
It has many a town and city grand,
Where the Savage used to roam;
To the poor of every other land
It offers a peaceful home.
I'm proud of the land where I was born,
I'm proud of the Parent Isle,
Whose banners float at the gates of morn,
And the gates of eve the while.
And my pulses leap with a joyous thrill,
Wherever they take the lead,
And join their hands with a hearty will
In doing a noble deed.
There's another land that's dear to me,
For it speaks the English tongue;
Like a shoot that springs from an old oak tree,
From the English race it sprung.
It has gained a mighty place on earth,
And a mighty name has won;
It has given to sage and hero birth,
And it boasts of Washington.
But a blot, a dark and loathsome blot,
Polluted that fair young land;
God waited till his wrath was hot,
And he took his sword in hand!
He had heard the bitter wail of woe,
He had heard the clanking chain—
He rescued a nation years ago,
He will rescue one again!
There's a gathering darkness in the sky,
There's a tramp of hurrying feet;
There's a clang of arms, and a battle cry,
And two hostile armies meet.
They meet! they charge! 'tis a dreadful sight!
They wade through a gory sea;
It is life or death, it is wrong or right,
It is freedom or slavery!
The nations stand with a wondering look,
And list to the roar and din;
While History bends o'er an open book
And steadily writes therein.
And what will she say of my native land?
And what of the Parent Isle?
To the North, or South, did they give their hand,
To which did they grant a smile?
God speaks in the wind and earthquake now,
And those who have ears may hear:
To the King of kings let monarchs bow,
And let all the earth draw near.
Let the nations mark his holy laws,
For though he keeps silence long,
With fire and sword He will plead the cause
Of the weak against the strong.
Take heed and beware, my native land,—
To thy ways and words take heed!
On the side of right and freedom stand,
And say to the truth, "God speed!"
Let England herself a lesson learn,
And let her take warning too;
Let her judge as she would be judged in turn,
Let her nobly speak and do.