Classic Poem

New-England, New-England, my home o'er the sea!
My heart, as I wander, turns fondly to thee;
For bright rests the sun on thy clear winding streams,
And soft o'er thy meadows the moon pours her beams.
New-England, New-England, my home o'er the sea!
The wanderer's heart turns in fondness to thee.

Thy breezes are healthful, and clear are thy rills,
And the harvest waves proudly and rich on thy hills.
Thy maidens are fair, and thy yeomen are strong,
And thy rivers run blithely thy valleys among.
New-England, New-England, my home o'er the sea!
The wanderer's heart turns in fondness to thee.

There's home in New-England, where dear ones of mine
Are thinking of me and the days of lang syne,
And blest be the hour when, my pilgrimage o'er,
I shall sit by that hearth-stone and leave it no more.
New-England, New-England, my home o'er the sea!
My heart, as I wander, turns fondly to thee.