Poem by George Pope Morris

The Land of Washington

I glory in the sages
 Who, in the days of yore,
In combat met the foemen,
 And drove them from our shore.
Who flung our banner's starry field
 In triumph to the breeze,
And spread broad maps of cities where
 Once waved the forest-trees.
  —Hurrah!—

I glory in the spirit
 Which goaded them to rise
And found a might nation
 Beneath the western skies.
No clime so bright and beautiful
 As that where sets the sun;
No land so fertile, fair, and free,
 As that of Washington
  —Hurrah!—

1. Fare Thee Well, Love
2. Thou Hast Woven the Spell
3. The Chieftain's Daughter
4. Thy Will Be Done
5. Wearies My Love?

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