Dear unto me, my native land,
Is every field of thy wide realm;
And dearer still the guardian hand
That holds the way-directing helm;
And now I love thee ten times more,
When threatened is thy rocky shore:
When waves on every side assail,
And adverse winds and tides prevail.
But why should I with sorrow’s flow
Bewail my much loved country’s woe,
And all her coming danger tell;
Enough to me it is to know
I love my native country well.