D.G.H. — Oh give me back my native hills

Oh, give me back my native hills,         Rough, rugged though they be: No other clime, no other land,         Is half so dear to me. The sun is bright, the world looks fair,         And friends surround me here: But mem'ry, brooding o'er the past,         Given home its tribute tear. But mem'ry, brooding o'er the past,         Given home its tribute tear. True, there are some moments when the heart         Reflects surrounding light When stranger smiles can kindle love,         And stranger hearths burn bright, Yet, oh! they but call memory back,         As meteor as they glide, To tell how kind our early friends —         How sweet our own fireside. Tell how kind our early friends, —         How sweet our own fireside. New England — dear to me thy wall:         Wherever I may roam, I'll think on there, my home.         For rooted in thy rock-bound shore, The noblest virtues grow:         And beauty's choleest flowers are called From out thy highland snow.         And beauty's choleest flowers are called From out thy highland snow. Then give me back my native hills         Rough, rugged though they be: No other clime, no other land,         Is half so dear to me. Affection's ties surround my home         Like ivy tendrils [??]vines My love, my blessings, and my prayers         New England, all are thine. My love, my blessings, and my prayers         New England, all are thine.