 | Poems of home and country |  |
314
AMERICA'S CHRISTIAN CENTENNIAL.
[_]
Written under the conviction that the progress of Christ's Kingdom during the First Century of American Independence was typical of its supreme extension during the new century, just begun.
A hundred years,—how vast the sweep
Of scenes that fill the mighty past!
The sires that sowed, the sons that reap;
The trembling first, the hopeful last!
Of scenes that fill the mighty past!
The sires that sowed, the sons that reap;
The trembling first, the hopeful last!
A hundred years,—through peace and strife
The envy of a hundred lands;
The nation, nurtured into life,
Founded in faith, in glory stands.
The envy of a hundred lands;
The nation, nurtured into life,
Founded in faith, in glory stands.
A hundred years,—what names of power
With fadeless bloom our history wreathe;
Like petals of some fragrant flower,
A sweet aroma still they breathe.
With fadeless bloom our history wreathe;
Like petals of some fragrant flower,
A sweet aroma still they breathe.
A hundred years,—o'er lands afar,
Where once at heathen shrines they fell,
Thousands have hailed the rising star,
Thy radiant star, Immanuel.
Where once at heathen shrines they fell,
Thousands have hailed the rising star,
Thy radiant star, Immanuel.
A hundred years,—from sea to sea
Freedom's unsullied banners wave;
No tyrant bids us bow the knee,
No zealot rules, nor toils a slave.
Freedom's unsullied banners wave;
No tyrant bids us bow the knee,
No zealot rules, nor toils a slave.
315
A hundred years,—what scenes unknown
In wondrous vista lie outspread!
Harvests from seed in weakness sown,
Life, springing from the mighty dead.
In wondrous vista lie outspread!
Harvests from seed in weakness sown,
Life, springing from the mighty dead.
A hundred years,—we wait His word
Whose fiat bade creation be,
Who spake, and echoing chaos heard,
And light broke forth in majesty.
Whose fiat bade creation be,
Who spake, and echoing chaos heard,
And light broke forth in majesty.
A hundred years,—unshrinking still,
We wait the Master's high behest;
In filial trust, the Master's will
Appoints our toil, provides our rest.
We wait the Master's high behest;
In filial trust, the Master's will
Appoints our toil, provides our rest.
A hundred years, perchance, may end,
And sin from all its thrones be hurled,
And earth in humble reverence bend
To Him who rules a ransomed world.
And sin from all its thrones be hurled,
And earth in humble reverence bend
To Him who rules a ransomed world.
A hundred years, and earth, redeemed,
Shall see her idol temples fall,
And He, whose star o'er Bethlehem beamed,
Sit, crowned, triumphant, Lord of all.
Shall see her idol temples fall,
And He, whose star o'er Bethlehem beamed,
Sit, crowned, triumphant, Lord of all.
| Poems of home and country | |