And there are smiles upon our lips For those who meet her foemen, For glory’s star knows no eclipse, When smiled upon by woman. For those who brave the mighty deep, And scorn the threat of danger, We’ve smiles to cheer, and tears to weep For every ocean ranger. Our hearts are with our native land, Our songs are for her freedom; Our prayers are for the gallant band Who strike where honor leads them. We love the taintless air we breathe, ’Tis freedom’s endless power; We’ll twine for him an endless wreath Who scorns a tyrant’s power. They tell of France’s beauties fair, Of Italy’s proud daughters, Of Scotland’s lasses, England’s fair, And nymphs of Shannon’s waters. We need not boast their haughty charms Though lords around them hover, Our glory lies in freedom’s arms-- A FREEMAN for a lover! The American Boy. 67 “Father, look up and see that flag, How gracefully it flies; Those pretty stripes--they seem to be A rainbow in the skies.” “It is your country’s flag, my son, And proudly drinks the light, O’er ocean’s waves, in foreign climes, A symbol of our might.” “Father, what fearful noise is that, Like thundering of the clouds? Why do the people wave their hats, And rush along in crowds?” “It is the noise of cannon, child, The glad shouts of the free; This is the day to memory dear-- ’Tis Freedom’s Jubilee.” “I wish that I were now a man, I’d fire my cannon too, And cheer as loudly as the rest-- But, father, why don’t you?” “I’m getting old and weak--but still My heart is big with joy; I’ve witness’d many a day like this-- Shout you aloud, my boy.” “Hurrah! for Freedom’s Jubilee! God bless our native land! And may I live to hold the sword Of freedom in my hand!” “Well done, my boy--grow up and love, The land that gave you birth; A home where Freedom loves to dwell, A paradise on earth.” My Poor Dog Tray. 68