The homes of New England, free, fortuned, and fair;
Oh, many a heart treasures its seraphim there,
E’en more than thy mountains or streamlets they please,
New England, my country, I love thee for these.
God shield thee, New England, dear land of my birth,
And thy children that wander afar on the earth;
Thou still art my country, where’er I am cast,—
Take thou to thy bosom my ashes at last.
The Old Folks we Loved Long Ago.
Battling with life,
’Mid care and strife,
The daily toils in hope I undergo;
Yet mem’ry will wander,
Fonder oh, fonder,
To the dear old folks I loved long ago.
Long years have gone
Since in the morn
Of life I heard the river’s gentle flow;
And oft mem’ry lingers,
As point time’s fingers,
To the dear old folks I loved long ago.
Dell, hill, and tree,
Flower, bird, and bee,
All as of yore, make music sweet and low,
And, though on earth riven,
I hope to meet in heaven
The dear old folks I loved long ago.
Then up, my soul,
Strive for the goal,
Oh, linger not to weep and wail in woe;
For far in yon azure blue
Methinks I yet may know
The dear old folks I loved long ago.
CONTENTS