I love my country's vine-clad hills, Her thousand bright and gushing rills, Her sunshine and her storms； Her rough and rugged rocks that rear Their hoary heads high in the air, In wild fantastic forms.
I love her rivers deep and wide, Those mighty streams that seaward glide, To seek the ocean's breast； Her smiling fields, her pleasant vales, Her shady dells, her flowery dales—— Abodes of peaceful rest.
I love her forests, dark and lone, For there the wild-bird's merry tone I hear from morn till night； And lovelier flowers are there, I ween, Than e'er in Eastern lands were seen In varied colors bright.
Her forests and her valleys fair, Her flowers that scent the morning air, All have their charms for me； But more I love my country's name, Those words that echo deathless fame—— The Land of Liberty.