If by fate condemn'd to wander,
Sever'd too from ev'ry tie,
As [on]1 infant days I ponder,
Grief impels the struggling sigh.
O'er the snow cap'd mountain toiling,
O'er the burning desert sand,
From such scenes my heart recoiling
Ever sighs for native land.
My native land! Dear native land!

If thro' crowded halls I've wander'd,
Seeking joy amid the throng,
Still on home my heart has ponder'd,
When I heard some native song.
Though syren voice might sing the lay —
Music trembling 'neath her hand,
Still she'd not the pow'r to stay,
Wand'ring thoughts of native land:
My native land! Dear native land!