The Day Book

[VOL. 1.--No. 77.]

MY NATIVE HOME.

BY JUDGE A. B. MEEK, OF ALABAMA.

Land of the South!--imperial land!
How proud thy mountains rise--
How sweet thy scenes on every hand--
How fair thy covering skies!

But not for this--oh, not for thee,
I love thy fields to roam--
Thou hast a dearer spell to me,
Thou art my native home!

Thy rivers roll thy liquid wealth,
Unequalled to the sea--
Thy hills and valleys bloom with health,
And green with verdure be!

But not for thy proud ocean streams,
Not for their azure dome--
Sweet, sunny South!--I cling to thee--
Thou art my native home!

I've stood beneath Italia's clime,
Beloved of tale and song--
On Hellen's hills, proud and sublime,
Where Nature's wonders throng;
By Tempe's classic, sunlit streams,
Where gods, of old, did roam--
But ne'er have found so fair a land
As thou--my native home!

And thou hast prouder glories, too--
Than Nature ever gave:
Peace sheds o'er thee her genial dew,
And freedom's pinions wave--
Fair science flings her pearls around,
Religion lifts her dome,
These, these endear thee to my heart--
My own, dear native home!

And Heaven's best gift to man is thine;
God bless the rosy girls!
Like Sylvan flowers, they sweetly shine;
Their hearts are as pure as pearls!
And grace and goodness circle them,
Where'er thy footsteps roam,
How can I then, whilst loving them,
Not love my native home!

Land of the South!--imperial land!
Then here's health to thee--
Long as thy mountain barriers stand
May'st thou be blessed and free!
May dark dissension's banner ne'er
Wave o'er thy fertile loam--
But should it come, there's one will die
To save his native home!