Their Mother they forget not; but from far,
Where, ocean-like, the boundless Prairie spreads,
Where rock-ribbed mountains lift their frowning forms,
And sunset regions kiss the western wave,
Their hearts with many a yearning backward turn,
True to her still; and all her scenes recalled
Look fairer seen in memory's mellow light.
A Holy Land she seems, where God abides;
Nor seems alone. Holy well named a land
Where lives a faith divine; where graceful rise
Religion's hallowed domes, and close at hand
The school-house, fit ally, within whose walls
Kind culture early moulds the plastic mind
To virtue and to truth; where stand embowered
The mantled cottage and the tasteful Home.
Dear tranquil scenes! Home, o'er the world a name
That like a talisman calls to the soul
All images of bliss, hath here a spell
Of mightiest working.[1] Other lands may boast
More friendly soils; and blander airs may breathe
- ↑ Appendix, note B.
