 | Poems of home and country |  |
xii
ECHOES OF “AMERICA.”
“What are these notes of melody that float around me here,—
The tones of love that in my youth broke on my ravished ear,
The swelling notes from infant lips, the anthem of the free,
When childish voices trilled the song, ‘My country, 't is of thee’?
The tones of love that in my youth broke on my ravished ear,
The swelling notes from infant lips, the anthem of the free,
When childish voices trilled the song, ‘My country, 't is of thee’?
“My fate has led me far from home; new scenes salute my eyes;
New climes and seasons greet me here, new flowers, fruits and skies,—
But still my heart, untravelled, turns, dear native land, to thee;
I sing again the old refrain, ‘Sweet land of liberty’!”
New climes and seasons greet me here, new flowers, fruits and skies,—
But still my heart, untravelled, turns, dear native land, to thee;
I sing again the old refrain, ‘Sweet land of liberty’!”
She spoke in sweet and gentle tones, her cheeks with tears were wet;
“Dear native land, its light, its love, how can I e'er forget?”
She heard the strain; her bounding heart longed for the brave and free;
She breathed in ecstasy of love, “Sweet land of Liberty!”
“Dear native land, its light, its love, how can I e'er forget?”
She heard the strain; her bounding heart longed for the brave and free;
She breathed in ecstasy of love, “Sweet land of Liberty!”
Another pilgrim, far from home, heard the same echoing strain;
Her throbbing heart grew wild with joy to greet the thrill again.
She fainted as the glorious sound along the gamut ran,
“Is this the land of liberty?” “Alas, 't is but Japan!”
Her throbbing heart grew wild with joy to greet the thrill again.
She fainted as the glorious sound along the gamut ran,
“Is this the land of liberty?” “Alas, 't is but Japan!”
But Freedom stooped to wipe the tears, to kiss the dead to life,—
Freedom that speaks the words of peace, healer of human strife.
Visions of love came o'er the soul; in faith, they rose to see
The tribes of all the people earth made, through the Gospel, free.
Freedom that speaks the words of peace, healer of human strife.
Visions of love came o'er the soul; in faith, they rose to see
The tribes of all the people earth made, through the Gospel, free.
Newton Centre, Mass., april 9, 1895.
| Poems of home and country | |