Oh! there are hearts that turn in pride to thee,
Thou glorious land of blossom and of shower!
Gathering sweet incense from each blooming tree,
And tears of balm and freshness from each flower;
And at thy altars gloriously and free
The chainless spirit worships, hour by hour!
While round thee all our holiest thoughts entwine;
The fragrance of the heart, dear land! is thine.