pes aloft in the shrouds,
And our keel flies as fast as the shadow of clouds;
The land is in sight, on the verge of the sky,
And the ripple of waters flows pleasantly by,--
And faintly stealing,
Booming, pealing,
Chime from the city the echoing bells;
And louder, clearer,
Softer, nearer,
Ringing sweet welcome the melody swells;
And it 's home! and it 's home! all our sorrows are past--
We are home in the land of our fathers at last.

How oft with a pleasure akin to a pain,
In fancy we roam'd through thy pathways again,
Through the mead, through the lane, through the grove, through the corn,
And heard the lark singing its hymn to the morn;
And 'mid the wild wood,
Dear to childhood,
Gather'd the berries that grew by the way;
But all our gladness
Died in sadness,
Fading like dreams in the dawning of day;--
But we 're home! we are home! all our sorrows are past--
We are home in the land of our fathers at last.

We loved thee before, but we 'll cherish thee now
With a deeper emotion than words can avow;
Wherever in absence our feet might delay,
We had never a joy like the joy of to-day;
And home returning,
Fondly yearning,
Faces of welcome seem crowding the shore--
England! England!
Beautiful England!
Peace be around thee, and joy evermore!
And it 's home! and it 's home! all our sorrows are past--
We are home in the land of our fathers at last.

THE MEN OF THE NORTH.

Fierce as its sunlight, the East may be proud
Of its gay gaudy hues and its sky without cloud;
Mild as its breezes, the beautiful West
May smile like the valleys that dimple its breast;
The South may rejoice in the vine and the palm,
In its groves, where the midnight is sleepy with balm:
Fair though they be,
There 's an isle in the sea,
The home of the brave and the boast of the free!
Hear it, ye lands! let the shout echo forth--
The lords of the world are the Men of the North!

Cold though our seasons, and dull though our skies,
There 's a might in our arms and a fire in our eyes;
Dauntless and patient, to dare and to do--
Our watchword is