Neither America's much favored land, Where Lehi, guided by Jehovah's hand, Obtained a place for him and his, to be Through generations of posterity; Where those choice records, where the truth was found, As said Isaiah, "_speaking from the ground_." Nor coasts, nor capes, nor islands of the sea; For none I cherish fond partiality. I say, with Brother Eddington, I'm not Italian, Hindoo, English, German, Scot; Neither American, Swiss, Welsh or Dane, Nor yet an Islander from ocean's main, Nor Spanish, French, Norwegian, nor Swede-- I claim no country, nation, kingdom, creed, Excepting Zion; that I proudly name-- Home of all homes, that home I fondly claim. Were I to boast of nationality, I'd look beyond this frail mortality. The noblest spirits scattered o'er the earth, By truth's eternal influence gathered forth From Babylon to earthly Zion, here, Are on their way to heaven's celestial sphere. Our inns, our stopping places, which, or where, Don't matter, when we've paid our bills of fare. One God, one faith, one baptism--we are now All in one kingdom, at one altar bow. The union of the Father and the Son, Is heaven's true pattern; we must all be one. All local feelings must be laid aside, And former differences no more divide. The time approaches; soon will Zion be The pride of earthly nationality; When 'twill the histories of those adorn Of whom 'tis said, "they were in Zion born." The Holy Spirit every Saint receives, Is one sense added to what nature gives, And forms a powerful telescope, whereby We look beyond the stretch of mortal eye. Its keen perceptive vision takes a view Of origin and destination too. Through this superior spirit-sense, we learn What our inferior senses ne'er discern, That we're not natives of this fallen earth. We lived before--we had an earlier birth, A clime and habitations highly pure Beyond what these gross senses can endure. _There_ is the charm, the nationality, The spring of impulse actuating me; That is the point to which I would attain-- The country home I fondly would regain; From whence, for noble purposes, we all, To gain experience through our Parents' fall, To gain the zenith of perfected worth, Have come on pilgrimage, through mortal birth; As foreign trav'lers, each a camping ground On different portions of the earth has found. The force of habit gives to each a grace-- A special charm to each and every place; And yet, with all the adoration felt, As at their shrines devotedly we knelt, Not one--not _all_, possessed sufficient worth, To make us feel quite naturalized to earth.