Memories of Childhood's Slavery Days by Annie L. Burton
page 62 of 67 (92%)
page 62 of 67 (92%)
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America My country, 'tis of thee, Sweet land of liberty, Of thee I sing; Land where my fathers died, Land of the pilgrim's pride, From every mountain side Let freedom ring. My native country, thee, Land of the noble free, Thy name I love; I love thy rocks and rills, Thy woods and templed hills; My heart with rapture thrills Like that above. Let music swell the breeze, And ring from all the trees Sweet freedom's song; Let mortal tongues awake, Let all that breathe partake, Let rocks their silence break, The sound prolong. Our fathers' God to Thee, Author of liberty, To Thee we sing; |
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