A poem delivered in the first congregational church in the town of Quincy, May 25, 1840 the two hundredth anniversary of the incorporation of the town |
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 | A poem delivered in the first congregational church in the town of Quincy, May 25, 1840 |  |
Light must still come. 'Tis but our dawning hour—
The drowsy soul must feel its godlike power.
O not in morning dreams of wealth and fame,
Must thou, America, pollute thy name,
And while the daybreak gleams around thee, steep
Thy freeborn youth in enervating sleep.
'Twas not for this our venerated sires
Tilled the bleak wilds, and marched through battle fire:
When war's wild night with whirlwind fury roared,
When those brave hearts their blood so freely poured,
It was not that their children then unborn
Should doze away in dreams this peaceful morn.
But by their cruel stripes while we are healed,
Let us receive the light from them concealed;
Shame on us, if we think the task is wrought,
And the goal won, which they so fondly sought.
The scholar, priest, and statesman still must see
More truth and freedom for the true and free.
Truth that outlives all visionary dreams,—
Freedom which is—and not which only seems—
And both illumined by the Light above,
And sanctified by the great law of Love;
When man meets man no more with tyrant's rod,
The brother of his race—the child of God.
The drowsy soul must feel its godlike power.
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Must thou, America, pollute thy name,
And while the daybreak gleams around thee, steep
Thy freeborn youth in enervating sleep.
'Twas not for this our venerated sires
Tilled the bleak wilds, and marched through battle fire:
When war's wild night with whirlwind fury roared,
When those brave hearts their blood so freely poured,
It was not that their children then unborn
Should doze away in dreams this peaceful morn.
But by their cruel stripes while we are healed,
Let us receive the light from them concealed;
Shame on us, if we think the task is wrought,
And the goal won, which they so fondly sought.
The scholar, priest, and statesman still must see
More truth and freedom for the true and free.
Truth that outlives all visionary dreams,—
Freedom which is—and not which only seems—
And both illumined by the Light above,
And sanctified by the great law of Love;
When man meets man no more with tyrant's rod,
The brother of his race—the child of God.
| A poem delivered in the first congregational church in the town of Quincy, May 25, 1840 | |