The Spirit of the Nation/My Land

by The Celt (Thomas Osborne Davis)

MY LAND.

I.

She is a rich and rare land;
Oh! she's a fresh and fair land;
She is a dear and rare land—
This native land of mine.

II.

No men than her's are braver—
Her women's hearts ne'er waver;
I'd freely die to save her,
And think my lot divine.

III.

She's not a dull or cold land;
No! she's a warm and bold land;
Oh! she's a true and old land—
This native land of mine.

IV.

Could beauty ever guard her,
And virtue still reward her,
No foe could cross her border—
No friend within it pine!

V.

Oh, she's a fresh and fair land;
Oh, she's a true and rare land!
Yes, she's a rare and fair land—
This native land of mine.