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No Place Like This.

BY F. M. ADLINGTON.
TUNE — Sweet Home.

Through all our wild rambles in search after bliss;
Experience informs us there's no place like this;
A charm for the soul seems to hallow this place,
And open our hearts to the whole human race.

This, yes, this, 'tis this, there's no place like this,
There's no place like this.

A brother who breaks from his festering chain,
And seeks for that freedom he scarce hopes to gain,
Kind friends, and protection, will find in this Hall,
And freedom of speech that's awarded to all.

This, yes, this, &c.

The slaves of intemperance, tho' chained to the car,
As victors of old dragged their trophies of war,
If he would be free, let him whisper our call;
We'll tender the pledge, and his fetters will fall.

This, yes, this, &c.

To all we the hand of affection extend,
And hail ev'ry man as a brothers and friend;
The seal of our God on his forehead we trace,
And ask not his title, his sect, or his race.

This, yes, this, &c.

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Men, women and children, together we join,
To drive our the curse of rum, brandy, and wine;
Experience assures us that Temp'rance is bliss,
Then come to her altar; there's no place like this.

This, yes, this, &c.