My Friesland
I've come at last, my Friesland;
I'll never leave again,
But watch the budding trees stand
Above the grassy plain.
From the smallest little flow'rs that grow,
To the tallest steeple's rise,
You're the fairest country that I know
Beneath the bluest skies.
Everywhere I walk, I see,
My memories are true;
The people smiling back at me,
Their eyes are sparkling too.
From Bolsward down toward Heerenveen,
The dearest land I've seen;
What shame I nearly left for good,
When I was but fifteen.
I've come at last, my Friesland;
My wand'ring I resign:
Oh, sprawling, comely sealand,
What joy to call you mine!
Author - Isaiah Zerbst
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