Give Me The Spot

By L. O. Littlefield.

Oh! give me the spot where the wild-deer reposes,

And the hum of the city and hammer is still-

Where naught but perfume, from the sweet scented roses,

Enamour [Enamor] the silence and gloom of the hill.

Oh! give me the spot where the glance of the moon-beam

Steals peacefully down from the gloom of the skies- Oh! give me the spot where the true hand of friendship

Where Happiness sits on the bank of the cool stream, Doth brush off each tear of despondence and care-

And the sweet voice of Freedom doth cheerfully rise. Where Faith, Love, Virtue, and Brotherly-fellowship,

Do lie down, at eve, in their undisturbed lair.

Oh! give me the spot where the hand of oppression

Is swept from the peace of the lone mountain dell- Oh! give me the spot, by the 'cold world glanced over,'

Where streamlets glide softly with 'trembling emotion,' Where Religion and Virtue doth deck each soft brow!

And fill every breeze with their soul-cheering knell. Oh! give me the spot, where's a friend and a brother

To sooth [soothe] every feeling of heart-stricken woe!