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THE HOMES OF ENGLAND.
Where's the coward that would not dare
THE stately Homes of England,
How beautiful they stand!
Amidst their tall ancestral trees,
O'er all the pleasant land.
The deer across their greensward bound
And the swan glides past them with the sound
The merry Homes of England!
Around their hearths by night,
What gladsome looks of household love
Meet, in the ruddy light!
There woman's voice flows forth in song,
Or childhood's tale is told,
Or lips move tunefully along
The blessed Homes of England!
Is laid the holy quietness
That breathes from Sabbath-hours!
Solemn, yet sweet, the church-bell's chime
Floats thro' their woods at morn ;
All other sounds, in that still time,
The Cottage Homes of England!
By thousands on her plains, They are smiling o'er the silvery brooks,
And round the hamlet-fanes.
Thro' glowing orchards forth they peep,
Each from its nook of leaves, And fearless there the lowly sleep, As the bird beneath their eaves.
The free, fair Homes of England!
May hearts of native proof be rear'd
green for ever be the groves,
And bright the flowery sod,
Where first the child's glad spirit loves
Its country and its God !*