Still are the thoughts to memory dear.
A mother's pride, a father's joy.
That day of wrath, that dreadful day. When heaven and earth shall pass away.
In man's most dark extremity Oft succour dawns from Heaven.
Land of my sires! what mortal hand Can e'er untie the filial band That knits me to thy rugged strand!
Just at the age 'twixt boy and youth, When thought is speech, and speech is truth.