LAND of the free! my own beloved land! Why from all climes do strangers seek thy shore ?

Why still press myriad feet unto thy strand,

As if thy soil life's tree immortal bore? Where'er its starry folds thy banner spreads, Earth's countless nations haste as to a shrine; And place their all beneath its sacred shade,

And gladly shout this blessed land is mine! Samartia's sons from Scythian rule do flee, With limbs unshackled thy fair soil to tread; And from Italia's sunny clime they come,

Nor mourn the regal skies that o'er them spread. From where Helvetia's mountain ramparts stand, They hasten hither, and the strain they sung Amid the glorious Alps, is sounding now

The quiet vales of the New World amongFrom where Madeira sleeps amid the wave They come-nor pause their treasures thence to bring.

Why is it that all leave their father's graves, And all their heart's wealth to the wild winds

fling?

Is it that thou art free, my native land?

Freer than all the realms of earth besideFrom the Pacific's to th' Atlantic's wave,

The unconquer'd eagle spreads his pinions wide? "Tis not for this, though thou art nobly free,

That myriad feet do press thy verdant sod: But that through all thy mighty realm they find Elsewhere unfound, FREEDOM TO WORSHIP GOI