William McCarty, comp. The American National Song Book. 1842.
The Temple of LibertyT
In every fond heart that for Liberty glows;
Yet cold is that breast where uncherish’d it dwindles,
And sad the effect which from apathy flows:
O, thou that wert born in the cot of the peasant,
But diest of languor in luxury’s dome,
Whose magic can make e’en the wilderness pleasant,
Where thou art, O Liberty! there is my home.
The race who the charter of Freedom have gain’d!
Whose fathers bequeath’d it, and bid their descendants
Inherit the legacy pure and unstain’d!
That land is Columbia’s supremely bless’d region,
Where Freedom’s bright eagle o’ershadows her dome,
To watch o’er her rights, and protect her religion—
Hail, Temple of Liberty! thou art my home.