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Where's the coward that would not dare
To fight for such a land?

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
Thro' shade and sunny gleam,

And the swan glides past them with the sound
Of some rejoicing stream.

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
Some glorious page of old.

The blessed Homes of England!
How softly on their bowers

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,
Of breeze and leaf are born.

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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!
Long, long, in hut and hall,

May hearts of native proof be rear'd
To guard each hallow'd wall!

green for ever be the groves,

And bright the flowery sod,

Where first the child's glad spirit loves

Its country and its God !*

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