Wi' Him I call my own

The branches o' the woodbine hide My little cottage wall, An' though 'tis but a humble thatch, I envy not the hall.

The wooded hills before my eyes Are spread both far and wide; An' Nature's grandeur seems to dress, In all her lovely pride.

It is, indeed, a lovely spot, O' singing birds an' flowers; 'Mid Nature's grandeur it is true, I pass away my hours.

Yet think not 'tis this lovely glen, So dear in all its charms; Its blossomed banks and rippled reels, Freed from the world's alarms.

For should love's magic change the scene, To trackless lands unknown, 'Twere Eden in the desert wild, Wi' him I call my own.

[Picture: Decorative picture of fern]