Can fields of carnage, days of toil, destroy
The loved impression of domestic joy?
Ye daylight dreams! that cheer the soldier’s breast,
In hostile climes, with spells benign and blest,
Soothe his brave heart, and shed your glowing ray
O’er the long march through Desolation’s way;
Oh! still ye bear him from th’ ensanguined plain,
Armour’s bright flash, and Victory’s choral strain,
To that loved Home where pure affection glows,
That shrine of bliss! asylum of repose!