Spring like thin oaks by hill and glen.
What cordial welcomes greet the guest,
By thy lone rivers of the West;
How faith is kept and truth revered,
And man is loved and God is feared,
In woodland homes,
And where the ocean-border foams. 
There's freedom at thy gates and rest,
For Earth's down-trodden and oppress,
A shelter for the hunted head,
For the starved laborer toil and bread.
Power at thy bounds,
Stops and calls back his baffled hounds.
Oh fair young mother! on thy brow,
Shall sit a nobler grace than now.
Deep in the brightness of the skies,
The thronging years in glory rise,
And as they fleet,
Drop strength and riches at thy feet.
Thin eye with every coming hour,
Shall brighten and thy form shall tower;
And when thy sisters elder born,
Would brand thy name with words of scorn
Before thin eye,
Upon their lips the taunt shall die.

