Джордж Поуп Моррис (George Pope Morris)

* * *

I'm with you once again, my friends,
 No more my footsteps roam;
Where it began my journey ends,
 Amid the scenes of home.
No other clime has skies so blue,
 Or streams so broad and clear,
And where are hearts so warm and true
 As those that meet me here?

Since last with spirits, wild and free,
 I pressed my native strand,
I've wandered many miles at sea,
 And many miles on land.
I've seen fair realms of the earth
 By rude commotion torn,
Which taught me how to prize the worth
 Of that where I was born.

In other countries, when I heard
 The language of my own,
How fondly each familiar word
 Awoke an answering tone!
But when our woodland songs were sung
 Upon a foreign mart,
The vows that faltered on the tongue
 With rapture thrilled the heart!

My native land, I turn to you,
 With blessing and with prayer,
Where man is brave and woman true,
 And free as mountain air.
Long may our flag in triumph wave
 Against the world combined,
And friends a welcome—foes a grave,
 Within our borders find.

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