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 |  |
Here may the Faith, which other times denied,
For which lone sages toiled and martyrs died,
Be sought and valued as the purest gem,
That sparkles on thy ample diadem.
Here may the Hope, so long but feebly cherished
In other lands, till it hath well nigh perished,
Light up the heart of man with strength divine,
Until another golden age shall shine.
Here may that Charity that never faileth,—
That love of man which over all prevaileth,
Be to each soul the fixed and central sun,—
The smile of God, the boon denied to none—
The eye of heaven, the sweet expanding light,
The cloud by day, the shaft of fire by night!
O then, my Country, when thy tribes shall fill
Each flowery valley and each wild green hill,
When wealth hath purchased wisdom—when thy soil
Lies all in bloom beneath the hand of toil,—
When the bright chain of love, that God hath given,
Extends from heart to heart, and thence to Heaven —
And all that souls prophetic dream of thee
Is ripening in the smile of Liberty—
O then, American, thy name shall shine
Written in glory by a hand divine;
No blight upon thy beauty, not a shade
To dim the robes in which thou art arrayed;
For He, who guided thee through storm and night,
Shall be to thee an Everlasting Light.
For which lone sages toiled and martyrs died,
Be sought and valued as the purest gem,
That sparkles on thy ample diadem.
Here may the Hope, so long but feebly cherished
In other lands, till it hath well nigh perished,
Light up the heart of man with strength divine,
Until another golden age shall shine.
Here may that Charity that never faileth,—
That love of man which over all prevaileth,
Be to each soul the fixed and central sun,—
The smile of God, the boon denied to none—
The eye of heaven, the sweet expanding light,
The cloud by day, the shaft of fire by night!
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Each flowery valley and each wild green hill,
When wealth hath purchased wisdom—when thy soil
Lies all in bloom beneath the hand of toil,—
When the bright chain of love, that God hath given,
Extends from heart to heart, and thence to Heaven —
And all that souls prophetic dream of thee
Is ripening in the smile of Liberty—
O then, American, thy name shall shine
Written in glory by a hand divine;
No blight upon thy beauty, not a shade
To dim the robes in which thou art arrayed;
For He, who guided thee through storm and night,
Shall be to thee an Everlasting Light.
| A poem delivered in the first congregational church in the town of Quincy, May 25, 1840 | |