Classic Poem

Oh, home of honor, native land,
When roaming o'er the sea,
The eye still turns, the heart still yearns,
O dearest home, for thee.
When ranged around the social board,
We bid our sorrows flee,
We own a pride that we are sons,
O dearest home, of thee.

If earth retains one single draught
Of pure and tranquil joy,
Within whose sweet and sparkling wave,
Is mixt no sad alloy;
'Tis here we taste it while we sit,
Beneath our natal tree,
'Tis here it glads our heart of hearts,
O dearest home, with thee.

When we are cast on foreign shores,
Beyond the dark-blue sea,
Sad memory oft returns to weep,
O dearest home, with thee,
And when the knell of death shall come,
And set our spirits free,
Our hearts shall find their sweetest rest,
O dearest home, with thee.