To those who are friendless and poor,
The world would resemble my cot near the wood,
And life the sweet stream at my door.





The Land of Washington.




I glory in the sages
Who, in the days of yore,
In combat met the foemen,
And drove them from our shore.
Who flung our banner's starry field
In triumph to the breeze,
And spread broad maps of cities where
Once waved the forest-trees.
--Hurrah!--

I glory in the spirit
Which goaded them to rise
And found a might nation
Beneath the western skies.
No clime so bright and beautiful
As that where sets the sun;
No land so fertile, fair, and free,