MY OWN NATIVE LAND.
Composed by J. S. Black.
I've roamed over mountain, I've crossed over flood,
I've traversed the wave-rolling sand,
Tho' the fields were as fair and the moon shone as bright,
Yet it was not my own native land.
No, no, no, no, yet it was not my own native land.
The right hand of friendship how oft have I grasped.
And bright eyes have smiled and looked bland,
But happier far were the hours I had passed
In the West in my own native land,
In my own native land, far, far, far in my own native land.
Then hail dear Columbia, the land that we love,
Where flourishes Liberty's tree,
'Tis the birthplace of freedom, our own native home,
'Tis the land, 'tis the land of the free,
Yea, yes, yes, yes, 'tis the land of the free.