Farewell, my native country! Thy bright star,
Thy sky, green woods, clear waters, no more greet
Mine eye delighted. But with pilgrim feet,
In waste and horrid lands, I wander far.
I wander far, unknown, but not dismayed;
I leave my native country; but my soul,
Unmoved, unshaken, in its purpose whole,
On higher power, than aught of earth, is stayed.
My God shall be my country! I will call,
And he will hear me in the desert place.
When troubles come, before his feet I fall,
And then he sheds the sunshine of his grace.
On Afric's arid sands, on Asia's plain,
On Greenland's ice-bound coast, no prayer to Him is vain.
— American Cottage Life (1850) XXXII.