When I Thinkof My Own Native Land,

Pity! Religion Has So Seldom Found A Skilful Guide Into Poetic Ground! The Flowers Would Spring Where'er She Deign'd To Stray And Every Muse Attend Her In Her Way.

I Crown Thee King Of Intimate Delights, Fire-side Enjoyments, Home-born Happiness, And All The Comforts That The Lowly Roof Of Undisturb'd Retirement, And The Hours Of Long Uninterrupted Ev'ning, Know.

Absence From Whom We Love Is Worse Than Death, And Frustrates Hope Severer Than Despair.

Fancy, Like The Finger Of A Clock, Runs The Great Circuit, And Is Still At Home.

But Many A Crime Deemed Innocent On Earth Is Registered In Heaven; And These No Doubt Have Each Their Record, With A Curse Annex'd.