 | Songs of two centuries |  |
95
Songs of the Nation.
97
GREATER AMERICA.
Greater America—stronger America—
Wide as the world thy beneficent fame;
Child of the earth's grandest struggle for liberty—
Hope ever smiles at the sound of thy name!
Greater America—wider America—
Ever the stronger and ever the same!
Wide as the world thy beneficent fame;
Child of the earth's grandest struggle for liberty—
Hope ever smiles at the sound of thy name!
Greater America—wider America—
Ever the stronger and ever the same!
Thou hast of rivers that far and unceasingly
Through the wide valleys of opulence flow;
Thou hadst of deserts that diligent husbandry
Turned to the richest of gardens that grow!
Greater America—richer America—
Many a summer thy harvest shall glow!
Through the wide valleys of opulence flow;
Thou hadst of deserts that diligent husbandry
Turned to the richest of gardens that grow!
Greater America—richer America—
Many a summer thy harvest shall glow!
Thou hast of mountains, with snow-knitted canopies
Pierced by the rocks that to heaven aspire;
Thou hast volcanoes—new torchlights of liberty—
Sending the cold waves a message of fire.
Greater America—brighter America—
Thou art the flame of the patriot's desire!
Pierced by the rocks that to heaven aspire;
Thou hast volcanoes—new torchlights of liberty—
Sending the cold waves a message of fire.
Greater America—brighter America—
Thou art the flame of the patriot's desire!
Thou hast of lakes that in sweetest tranquillity
Lie as if sky upon earth were at rest;
Thou hast two oceans, with many an argosy
Seeking thy shores from the East and the West.
Greater America—prouder America—
Thou by the earth and the ocean art blest!
Lie as if sky upon earth were at rest;
Thou hast two oceans, with many an argosy
Seeking thy shores from the East and the West.
Greater America—prouder America—
Thou by the earth and the ocean art blest!
Thou art the world's latest refuge from tyranny—
Out of the shadows they hurried to thee;
Now does thy hand, that has brightened their destiny,
Carry good news to the isles of the sea.
Greater America—kinder America—
Still art thou teaching the world to be free!
Out of the shadows they hurried to thee;
Now does thy hand, that has brightened their destiny,
Carry good news to the isles of the sea.
98
Still art thou teaching the world to be free!
Thou hast of soldiers whose hearts beat in loyalty—
Trained in the pride of their forefathers grand;
Ask of the foe that has tested their bravery,
How they can fight for their own cherished land!
Greater America—fiercer America—
Thou hast thy millions of men at command!
Trained in the pride of their forefathers grand;
Ask of the foe that has tested their bravery,
How they can fight for their own cherished land!
Greater America—fiercer America—
Thou hast thy millions of men at command!
Thou hast of sailors whose warships of majesty
Plough through the waves at thy every behest;
Deep is their cannons' far-echoing melody,
Chanting the liberty-song of the West.
Greater America—prouder America—
Now of the pride of the ocean possessed!
Plough through the waves at thy every behest;
Deep is their cannons' far-echoing melody,
Chanting the liberty-song of the West.
Greater America—prouder America—
Now of the pride of the ocean possessed!
Thou hast of hearts that will fight for thee faithfully,
Calling thee ever their loved and their own;
Patron of order and teacher of liberty,
E'er with the blessings of liberty strown—
Greater America—truer America—
Grandest of nations earth ever has known!
Calling thee ever their loved and their own;
Patron of order and teacher of liberty,
E'er with the blessings of liberty strown—
Greater America—truer America—
Grandest of nations earth ever has known!
99
SONG—LANGUAGE OF THE FLAG.
O stars of our flag one by one you arose,
'Till the sky on our banner was blazing with splendor!
Each ray from their depths is a night to our foes,
And a sunburst of joy to the gallant defender.
Not only their worth cheers the land of your birth,
But flings its clear light to the ends of the earth!
And the nation shall never from victory rest,
'Till the world is as free as the Land of the West!
'Till the sky on our banner was blazing with splendor!
Each ray from their depths is a night to our foes,
And a sunburst of joy to the gallant defender.
Not only their worth cheers the land of your birth,
But flings its clear light to the ends of the earth!
And the nation shall never from victory rest,
'Till the world is as free as the Land of the West!
O stripes of the flag!—you are emblems of woe
That fell on the hearts of the founders we cherish;
'Gainst the frowns of the storm and the guns of the foe
They fought that the land of their love should not perish.
The stripes that gleam red are from blood that was shed,
And the white ones between are from shrouds of our dead;
And farther and farther this emblem shall wave,
'Till the world has forgot that there e'er was a slave!
That fell on the hearts of the founders we cherish;
'Gainst the frowns of the storm and the guns of the foe
They fought that the land of their love should not perish.
The stripes that gleam red are from blood that was shed,
And the white ones between are from shrouds of our dead;
And farther and farther this emblem shall wave,
'Till the world has forgot that there e'er was a slave!
O staff of our flag!—you are sturdy and strong,
Like the people whose hands and whose hearts must uphold you!
You cling to the colors, through tempests of wrong,
Or when 'mid the zephyrs of peace they enfold you.
On many a field, you have scorned e'er to yield,
For the hearts of the brave were your sword and your shield;
And you promise for ages to stay in your might,
'Till the world gathers round you—firm standard of right!
Like the people whose hands and whose hearts must uphold you!
You cling to the colors, through tempests of wrong,
Or when 'mid the zephyrs of peace they enfold you.
On many a field, you have scorned e'er to yield,
For the hearts of the brave were your sword and your shield;
And you promise for ages to stay in your might,
'Till the world gathers round you—firm standard of right!
100
SONG—WESTERLAND.
Between the oceans deep and wide,
Westerland, O Westerland,
Are many nations side by side,
Westerland, O Westerland!
The waves that greet thy rocky shore,
And tell thy triumphs o'er and o'er,
Say thou shalt live forevermore,
Westerland, O Westerland!
Westerland, O Westerland,
Are many nations side by side,
Westerland, O Westerland!
The waves that greet thy rocky shore,
And tell thy triumphs o'er and o'er,
Say thou shalt live forevermore,
Westerland, O Westerland!
From many mountains, broad and high,
Westerland, O Westerland,
Thy face is lifted toward the sky,
Westerland, O Westerland!
The storms that leap from hill to hill,
The lightning-bolts that dart and thrill,
But make thy people stronger still,
Westerland, O Westerland!
Westerland, O Westerland,
Thy face is lifted toward the sky,
Westerland, O Westerland!
The storms that leap from hill to hill,
The lightning-bolts that dart and thrill,
But make thy people stronger still,
Westerland, O Westerland!
From prairies rich and golden mines,
Westerland, O Westerland,
Thy wealth in constant splendor shines,
Westerland, O Westerland!
The wealth that God has given to thee,
That thou a power for good might be,
And teach the nations to be free,
Westerland, O Westerland!
Westerland, O Westerland,
Thy wealth in constant splendor shines,
Westerland, O Westerland!
The wealth that God has given to thee,
That thou a power for good might be,
And teach the nations to be free,
Westerland, O Westerland!
May all thy ways be just and pure,
Westerland, O Westerland!
That thou through ages mayst endure,
Westerland, O Westerland!
Till, emblem of the free and brave,
O'er Tyranny's dishonored grave,
Thy flag around the world shall wave,
Westerland, O Westerland!
Westerland, O Westerland!
That thou through ages mayst endure,
Westerland, O Westerland!
Till, emblem of the free and brave,
O'er Tyranny's dishonored grave,
Thy flag around the world shall wave,
Westerland, O Westerland!
101
NEW ENGLAND'S HOME-CALL.
O children, my children, where'er you may be,
From your far-scattered dwellings come home once to me!
If you live upon mountains where valor was born,
Do they catch the first glimpse of America's morn?
If you delve in the prairie's horizon-fenced field,
Has it comelier fruits than my valleys can yield?
If pictures of splendor your cities have wrought,
Have not their strong frames from the hillsides been brought?
If you search in the mines for the wealth that is dear,
The precious gold-dust of your kindred is here;
If temples of learning loom fair on your view,
The little old school-house is waiting for you.
With motherly pride still the children I greet,
As they rush from the door in their coverless feet,
Or learn the book-lessons of life, one by one,
The same as a Greeley and Webster have done.
Do you kneel in cathedrals?—but do not forget
That the staid Doric meeting-house prays for you yet.
The grasses still bend with the worshipping breeze,
The robins have singing-pews up in the trees;
And saints that are dead, still to earth-loves akin,
Thrill the souls of the people that worship within.
O children, dear children, where'er you may dwell,
In mountain or hillside or valley or dell,
Or island oases in deserts of sea,
O children, my children, come home once to me!
From your far-scattered dwellings come home once to me!
If you live upon mountains where valor was born,
Do they catch the first glimpse of America's morn?
If you delve in the prairie's horizon-fenced field,
Has it comelier fruits than my valleys can yield?
If pictures of splendor your cities have wrought,
Have not their strong frames from the hillsides been brought?
If you search in the mines for the wealth that is dear,
The precious gold-dust of your kindred is here;
If temples of learning loom fair on your view,
The little old school-house is waiting for you.
With motherly pride still the children I greet,
As they rush from the door in their coverless feet,
Or learn the book-lessons of life, one by one,
The same as a Greeley and Webster have done.
Do you kneel in cathedrals?—but do not forget
That the staid Doric meeting-house prays for you yet.
The grasses still bend with the worshipping breeze,
The robins have singing-pews up in the trees;
And saints that are dead, still to earth-loves akin,
Thrill the souls of the people that worship within.
O children, dear children, where'er you may dwell,
102
Or island oases in deserts of sea,
O children, my children, come home once to me!
Which one of her own can a mother forget?
My heart is not granite: I long for you yet.
Come back to the past! there are still at my feet
The honest delights that make memory sweet:
The asters and golden-rods stay with their bloom,
The roses are breathing their gentle perfume;
The thistle yet blushes ere flying its seed,
The clematis clings—gleaming snow-drift of weed.
The wild-cherries ripen; the sumac-tree turns;
Like emeralds in air swing the maidenhair ferns.
The alder is hidden by clusters of vine,
The birch waxes pale at the march of the pine,
The willow the wrongs of the forest yet grieves,
And the elm clambers straight to its branches and leaves.
The song-sparrow came from his bright summer nest,
The eagle, brave cloud-mountaineer, is my guest;
The lark sings his swift-speeding hymn to the sun,
And the whippoorwill laughs when the daylight is done.
Sweet mosses are flocking on bowlder and tree;
O children, my children, come home once to me!
My heart is not granite: I long for you yet.
Come back to the past! there are still at my feet
The honest delights that make memory sweet:
The asters and golden-rods stay with their bloom,
The roses are breathing their gentle perfume;
The thistle yet blushes ere flying its seed,
The clematis clings—gleaming snow-drift of weed.
The wild-cherries ripen; the sumac-tree turns;
Like emeralds in air swing the maidenhair ferns.
The alder is hidden by clusters of vine,
The birch waxes pale at the march of the pine,
The willow the wrongs of the forest yet grieves,
And the elm clambers straight to its branches and leaves.
The song-sparrow came from his bright summer nest,
The eagle, brave cloud-mountaineer, is my guest;
The lark sings his swift-speeding hymn to the sun,
And the whippoorwill laughs when the daylight is done.
Sweet mosses are flocking on bowlder and tree;
O children, my children, come home once to me!
Did I fondle in tempests your first feeble wail?
Did I rock you asleep to the song of the gale?
Did I linger by windows of cottages low,
And cover your couches with blankets of snow?
Did I bar you from Nature's unlimited store,
Till you knocked with bare knuckles of toil at her door?
Did I temper like steel in a scythe-blade your wills,
And set in your blood the clear grit of the hills?
Did I teach you Economy's dignified craft,
Withholding the weakness of Luxury's draught?
I was handing you hardships you one day would bless,
I was planting your youth with the seeds of success;
I was giving your natures a climate of worth
That would bend to their will any climate on earth.
'Twas the training that nurtures the thrifty and free;
O children, my children, come home once to me!
Did I rock you asleep to the song of the gale?
Did I linger by windows of cottages low,
And cover your couches with blankets of snow?
Did I bar you from Nature's unlimited store,
Till you knocked with bare knuckles of toil at her door?
Did I temper like steel in a scythe-blade your wills,
And set in your blood the clear grit of the hills?
Did I teach you Economy's dignified craft,
Withholding the weakness of Luxury's draught?
I was handing you hardships you one day would bless,
103
I was giving your natures a climate of worth
That would bend to their will any climate on earth.
'Twas the training that nurtures the thrifty and free;
O children, my children, come home once to me!
From my watch-towers of hills I have viewed you afar,
Wherever the toils of humanity are;
And the waves, as they rushed for a moment to greet
The mountain-bred beaches that lie at my feet,
Have sung of my daughters and sons, o'er and o'er,
That landed wherever the sea has a shore.
No moment forget I the love and the worth
Of my children yet dwelling in halls of their birth,
Not deeming those less who in valley and hill
Stay home with the parent and comfort her still,
And who high on their mountains keep trimmed and in view
Bright torches of welcome that glisten for you;
But never a mother, by night or by day,
Can hush the heart's call for the child that's away!
Come back to the firesides! come back to the groves!
To woods in which Memory is lost as she roves!
Bring back the old songs that so linger you near,
You sing them in accents no other can hear;
Bring back the quaint stories of hillside and glen,
That laugh themselves over again and again;
Bring back the rude legends of struggle and woe;
Bring back all the joys of the sweet long ago!
My heart is not granite; I long you to see;
O children, my children, come home once to me!
Wherever the toils of humanity are;
And the waves, as they rushed for a moment to greet
The mountain-bred beaches that lie at my feet,
Have sung of my daughters and sons, o'er and o'er,
That landed wherever the sea has a shore.
No moment forget I the love and the worth
Of my children yet dwelling in halls of their birth,
Not deeming those less who in valley and hill
Stay home with the parent and comfort her still,
And who high on their mountains keep trimmed and in view
Bright torches of welcome that glisten for you;
But never a mother, by night or by day,
Can hush the heart's call for the child that's away!
Come back to the firesides! come back to the groves!
To woods in which Memory is lost as she roves!
Bring back the old songs that so linger you near,
You sing them in accents no other can hear;
Bring back the quaint stories of hillside and glen,
That laugh themselves over again and again;
Bring back the rude legends of struggle and woe;
Bring back all the joys of the sweet long ago!
My heart is not granite; I long you to see;
O children, my children, come home once to me!
104
THE MARCH OF THE VOLUNTEERS.
They marched their ways through the sunlit days—
A pageant bright and strong;
Oh many a word of cheer they heard
From many a crowded throng!
'Twas the orator's cry, “You pencil high
In letters of gold each name:
As you walk the streets to loud drum-beats,
You are climbing the hills of fame!”
'Twas the matron's cry, “There is suffering nigh,
To furrow the laurelled brow;
But never was yet a mother's debt
More splendidly paid than now!”
'Twas the maiden's cry, “It is sweet to die
For the country's sake, 'tis said;
But be you true, my lover in blue,
I will love you alive or dead!”
A pageant bright and strong;
Oh many a word of cheer they heard
From many a crowded throng!
'Twas the orator's cry, “You pencil high
In letters of gold each name:
As you walk the streets to loud drum-beats,
You are climbing the hills of fame!”
'Twas the matron's cry, “There is suffering nigh,
To furrow the laurelled brow;
But never was yet a mother's debt
More splendidly paid than now!”
'Twas the maiden's cry, “It is sweet to die
For the country's sake, 'tis said;
But be you true, my lover in blue,
I will love you alive or dead!”
They marched their ways in the bright spring days
Past statues great and tall
Of the country's pride, who had lived or died
And given the land their all.
And Lincoln seemed to the heart that dreamed,
From his chiselled lips to speak:
“The mission of might should be to fight
For those that are crushed and weak!”
And Grant spoke loud to the marching crowd,
“Make heavy and hard your blows;
The shortest way to a peaceful day
Is over a field of foes!”
And Fame's star-son, our Washington,
Spoke then from his kingless throne,
“You are heart and hand with the greatest land
That ever the world has known!”
Past statues great and tall
Of the country's pride, who had lived or died
And given the land their all.
And Lincoln seemed to the heart that dreamed,
From his chiselled lips to speak:
“The mission of might should be to fight
For those that are crushed and weak!”
And Grant spoke loud to the marching crowd,
“Make heavy and hard your blows;
The shortest way to a peaceful day
Is over a field of foes!”
And Fame's star-son, our Washington,
Spoke then from his kingless throne,
“You are heart and hand with the greatest land
That ever the world has known!”
105
DO NOT FORGET THE WOUNDED.
Now, in the days of triumph, when victory's golden bells
Sweep like a song of gladness over the hills and dells,
Do not forget the wounded—the almost worse than slain,
Waging a fight, by day and night, with the slow, grim enemy—Pain!
Sweep like a song of gladness over the hills and dells,
Do not forget the wounded—the almost worse than slain,
Waging a fight, by day and night, with the slow, grim enemy—Pain!
Now, when the cities are safer because of their battles grand,
Now, when the mountains are sweeter because there is peace in the land,
Do not forget the sick men—lying in misery there,
Who made their fight for God and the right, in that blazing tropical glare!
Now, when the mountains are sweeter because there is peace in the land,
Do not forget the sick men—lying in misery there,
Who made their fight for God and the right, in that blazing tropical glare!
Far from their home and kindred—far from the joys of life,
Far from the restful soothing of mother, sister, or wife,
Alone because they were noble, in agony's fearful clutch—
Is there a gem too bright for them, or a help that costs too much?
Far from the restful soothing of mother, sister, or wife,
Alone because they were noble, in agony's fearful clutch—
Is there a gem too bright for them, or a help that costs too much?
Jewels and satins and laces—how sweetly they gleam above
The cherished forms and faces of those that we know and love!
But what were all of their splendor, if dimmed with deadly fear?
If fortress and town were beaten down, and the Spanish hosts were here?
The cherished forms and faces of those that we know and love!
But what were all of their splendor, if dimmed with deadly fear?
If fortress and town were beaten down, and the Spanish hosts were here?
Oh, it was grand and glorious to get the news of peace,
When from the Chief came sounding the words that war might cease;
Glad were the welcome tidings that sped o'er valley and hill;
But the wounds that were made by fever and blade, are aching and bleeding still!
When from the Chief came sounding the words that war might cease;
Glad were the welcome tidings that sped o'er valley and hill;
But the wounds that were made by fever and blade, are aching and bleeding still!
Greet the returning heroes and trim their pathway grand:
There's ne'er too good a gift for those who fight for their native land!
Honor to all the boys in blue and make their coming bright,
But never forget the heavy debt we owe to the boys in white!
There's ne'er too good a gift for those who fight for their native land!
Honor to all the boys in blue and make their coming bright,
But never forget the heavy debt we owe to the boys in white!
106
THE PASSING OF THE MOTHER.
Mary A. Bickerdyke—War-Nurse.
Through the wide reach of Eternity's portals
Marched an unbroken procession of mortals:
Held through the clouds and the sunlight their way—
Those who had “died” on that day.
Each was to each near as sister or brother;
Pauper and millionaire jostled each other;
Jewels and money the dying might save;
Beauty was left in the grave.
Marched an unbroken procession of mortals:
Held through the clouds and the sunlight their way—
Those who had “died” on that day.
Each was to each near as sister or brother;
Pauper and millionaire jostled each other;
Jewels and money the dying might save;
Beauty was left in the grave.
Out of Death's mystery-moment of slumber,
Warriors and potentates came, without number.
Many the friends of the past they were meeting!
But there was heard no tumultuous greeting,
Till came a woman, with days fully told—
Wrinkled and weary and old.
Warriors and potentates came, without number.
Many the friends of the past they were meeting!
But there was heard no tumultuous greeting,
Till came a woman, with days fully told—
Wrinkled and weary and old.
Then the great news traversed all of those regions;
Then came a rally of swift-footed legions;
Making with plaudits the path all aglow,
Down which this woman must go.
Ne'er were the honors she lingered between,
Paid to a king or a queen!
Not with grim tools of the death-dealing labor;
Not with presenting of musket or saber;
But by an edge of the fame-bordered street,
Knelt every man at her feet.
Then came a rally of swift-footed legions;
Making with plaudits the path all aglow,
Down which this woman must go.
Ne'er were the honors she lingered between,
Paid to a king or a queen!
Not with grim tools of the death-dealing labor;
Not with presenting of musket or saber;
But by an edge of the fame-bordered street,
Knelt every man at her feet.
Then said those soldiers, in accents caressing,
“Mother, O Mother, your glance and your blessing:
Well may that luxury thrill with delight—
Make even Heaven more bright!”
Then said the woman, “My heroes, 'tis done:
Rise to your feet, every one.
Nought in my work was of grandeur or beauty:
Love was my countersign—Help was my duty.”
“Mother, O Mother, your glance and your blessing:
Well may that luxury thrill with delight—
107
Then said the woman, “My heroes, 'tis done:
Rise to your feet, every one.
Nought in my work was of grandeur or beauty:
Love was my countersign—Help was my duty.”
Then said a soldier, “I lay on a meadow,
Scythed by fierce battle—then garnered in shadow.
Night's gloomy sepulchre gathered around me;
Man had deserted and God had not found me.
‘Let the dead rest’, said my comrades, in sorrow:
‘Then to Earth's arms we will give them tomorrow.’
And the dead rested: but I, partly slain,
Watched with my murderous pain.
Then my weak lips could not utter a word—
Only a groan; but 'twas heard!
Heard by one heart through the sulphurous distance—
Heart that was toiling for others' existence.
How like a star to my life's eager craving,
Looked the rude lantern she bore to my saving;
How she brought back to me Earth's vanished charms—
Lifting me there in her arms!
Tell me, O comrades: and is it not meet
That I should bow at her feet?”
Scythed by fierce battle—then garnered in shadow.
Night's gloomy sepulchre gathered around me;
Man had deserted and God had not found me.
‘Let the dead rest’, said my comrades, in sorrow:
‘Then to Earth's arms we will give them tomorrow.’
And the dead rested: but I, partly slain,
Watched with my murderous pain.
Then my weak lips could not utter a word—
Only a groan; but 'twas heard!
Heard by one heart through the sulphurous distance—
Heart that was toiling for others' existence.
How like a star to my life's eager craving,
Looked the rude lantern she bore to my saving;
How she brought back to me Earth's vanished charms—
Lifting me there in her arms!
Tell me, O comrades: and is it not meet
That I should bow at her feet?”
Then said a soldier, “The North-wind was sweeping
Down through the Sun-land: its white blades were reaping
Harvests of death; and the torn tents were falling
In that new tempest of bleakness appalling.
Men full of deeds fit for Spartan or Roman
Shrank from the charge of our frost-crested foeman
Bidding defiance to sword and to gun—
Scorning the earth and the sun.
‘Moscow-retreat’, thought both timid and brave—
‘Not into France—but the grave.’
Oh, but all valor had proved unavailing,
But for our Mother's swift courage unfailing!
Joan of Arc 'gainst this enemy pallid,
Gaily her hosts of resistance she rallied.
Soon from her warm heart so dauntless though tender,
Sprang a huge campfire unrivalled in splendor:
Even the ramparts she, fearless of blame,
Stole, for the life-giving flame.
‘Under arrest’ for that glorious robbing,
Still was her great soul with sympathy throbbing;
Convict of red-tape, proud pris'ner heroic,
Heart of a Christian and nerves of a Stoic,
Hailed she the conflict, and entered upon it:
Fought a campaign 'gainst Destruction—and won it;
Charged with her might on the cohorts of Grief—
Gave every suf'ring relief.
Many a poor boy, in homesickness dumb,
Felt that his mother had come!—
We who had died had she reckoned without us,
There in those graves that were freezing about us,
But for the hardship and blame that she bore,
Who would have done for us more?
What though she signal me frowns as I tell it:
Who but our God could excel it?”
Down through the Sun-land: its white blades were reaping
Harvests of death; and the torn tents were falling
In that new tempest of bleakness appalling.
Men full of deeds fit for Spartan or Roman
Shrank from the charge of our frost-crested foeman
Bidding defiance to sword and to gun—
Scorning the earth and the sun.
‘Moscow-retreat’, thought both timid and brave—
‘Not into France—but the grave.’
Oh, but all valor had proved unavailing,
But for our Mother's swift courage unfailing!
108
Gaily her hosts of resistance she rallied.
Soon from her warm heart so dauntless though tender,
Sprang a huge campfire unrivalled in splendor:
Even the ramparts she, fearless of blame,
Stole, for the life-giving flame.
‘Under arrest’ for that glorious robbing,
Still was her great soul with sympathy throbbing;
Convict of red-tape, proud pris'ner heroic,
Heart of a Christian and nerves of a Stoic,
Hailed she the conflict, and entered upon it:
Fought a campaign 'gainst Destruction—and won it;
Charged with her might on the cohorts of Grief—
Gave every suf'ring relief.
Many a poor boy, in homesickness dumb,
Felt that his mother had come!—
We who had died had she reckoned without us,
There in those graves that were freezing about us,
But for the hardship and blame that she bore,
Who would have done for us more?
What though she signal me frowns as I tell it:
Who but our God could excel it?”
Then said a soldier, “My life-blood was flowing;
Into the future this sad soul was going.
Darkest of robes my crushed spirit was wearing!
What had I left, but eternal despairing?
Then to the scene this evangelist brought
Prayers that my parents had taught;
Then with sweet hymns she my anguish beguiled—
Hymns I had loved when a child.
Then did this saint, with fond eyes bending o'er,
Sing of the sweet ‘Shining Shore’;
Then came the Land of the Blest to my seeing;
Then a bright future pervaded my being;
Then did the pangs of my pain cease to cumber;
Then did I glide into blisses of slumber.
Slept with that soul-thrilling voice in my ear,
Full of enchantment and cheer;
Slept till I journeyed from Night into Day,
Dreaming that song all the way.
So did she soothe me as could but one other—
Sanctified Sister and Mother!”
Into the future this sad soul was going.
Darkest of robes my crushed spirit was wearing!
What had I left, but eternal despairing?
Then to the scene this evangelist brought
Prayers that my parents had taught;
Then with sweet hymns she my anguish beguiled—
Hymns I had loved when a child.
Then did this saint, with fond eyes bending o'er,
Sing of the sweet ‘Shining Shore’;
Then came the Land of the Blest to my seeing;
Then a bright future pervaded my being;
Then did the pangs of my pain cease to cumber;
Then did I glide into blisses of slumber.
Slept with that soul-thrilling voice in my ear,
109
Slept till I journeyed from Night into Day,
Dreaming that song all the way.
So did she soothe me as could but one other—
Sanctified Sister and Mother!”
Then came the Christ of Humanity: saying,
“Daughter, thy crown; I, my Father obeying,
Gladly this token of glory bring nigh,
Gleaming with stars of the sky.
Stars of all magnitudes flash, as thou waitest:
All hast thou blessed—from the least to the greatest.”
Then said the woman, “O Master of Mission!
Hear thee, I pray thee, a humble petition:
Let me work on, my vocation pursuing:
Nought have I done to what yet needs the doing.
Stow this sweet gift in some worthier place,
While I still toil for my race!”
“Daughter, thy crown; I, my Father obeying,
Gladly this token of glory bring nigh,
Gleaming with stars of the sky.
Stars of all magnitudes flash, as thou waitest:
All hast thou blessed—from the least to the greatest.”
Then said the woman, “O Master of Mission!
Hear thee, I pray thee, a humble petition:
Let me work on, my vocation pursuing:
Nought have I done to what yet needs the doing.
Stow this sweet gift in some worthier place,
While I still toil for my race!”
110
THE ABSENT SOLDIER'S CHILD.
By the dusty roadway wand'ring,
Came I to a garden fair;
Spendthrift flowers were gaily squand'ring
Sweets upon the summer air.
Came I to a garden fair;
Spendthrift flowers were gaily squand'ring
Sweets upon the summer air.
Trained and trellised vines sedately
Nursed their buds to blossoms bright;
Trees were standing, tall and stately,
In the sunbeams' mellow light.
Nursed their buds to blossoms bright;
Trees were standing, tall and stately,
In the sunbeams' mellow light.
Lacked my lovely garden only
Human forms, to perfect be:—
Brightest spots grow dull and lonely,
When but one there is to see.
Human forms, to perfect be:—
Brightest spots grow dull and lonely,
When but one there is to see.
Look! there comes a tiny maiden,
From an angle of the wall,
With a score of flow'rets laden
(She the fairest of them all);
From an angle of the wall,
With a score of flow'rets laden
(She the fairest of them all);
To a shapely mound, low-clinging
In that garden's choicest nook,
This young maiden, softly singing,
All her blossomed riches took.
In that garden's choicest nook,
This young maiden, softly singing,
All her blossomed riches took.
With a bound, I stood before her:
“Why is this, my little maid?”
Soft I whispered, bending o'er her;
She was shy, but not afraid.
“Why is this, my little maid?”
Soft I whispered, bending o'er her;
She was shy, but not afraid.
111
In her eyes a teardrop glistened,
In her voice were thrills of love;
And I worshipped while I listened
As to angels from above:
In her voice were thrills of love;
And I worshipped while I listened
As to angels from above:
“Papa far away is sleeping
With some soldier-friends,” she said:
“He is in his Saviour's keeping;
But we cannot find his bed.
With some soldier-friends,” she said:
“He is in his Saviour's keeping;
But we cannot find his bed.
“Yes, in Heaven his soul is living!
But it makes him seem more near,
If I, flow'rets to him giving,
‘Make believe’ that he is here.”
But it makes him seem more near,
If I, flow'rets to him giving,
‘Make believe’ that he is here.”
112
A SONG FOR OUR FLEETS.
A song for our fleets—our iron fleets
Of grim and savage beauty,
That plough their way through fields of spray,
To follow a nation's duty!
The winds may blow and the waves may flow
And stars may hide their faces,
But little we reck; our stars o'er-deck
Still glitter within their places!
Of grim and savage beauty,
That plough their way through fields of spray,
To follow a nation's duty!
The winds may blow and the waves may flow
And stars may hide their faces,
But little we reck; our stars o'er-deck
Still glitter within their places!
Let never a one who gazes on
This pageant calm but splendid,
Doubt that our coasts from hostile hosts
Will gallantly be defended!
A desperate foe may wish us woe;
But what is their petty knavery
Against the right, when backed with might
And Anglo-Saxon bravery?
This pageant calm but splendid,
Doubt that our coasts from hostile hosts
Will gallantly be defended!
A desperate foe may wish us woe;
But what is their petty knavery
Against the right, when backed with might
And Anglo-Saxon bravery?
A song for our fleets—our gallant fleets,
'Neath flags of glory flying,
That carried the aid, so long delayed,
To those that were crushed and dying!
And flames might glow, and blood might flow;
But still, with a stern endeavor,
We ruled the main, and lashed foul Spain
From our Western world forever!
'Neath flags of glory flying,
That carried the aid, so long delayed,
To those that were crushed and dying!
And flames might glow, and blood might flow;
But still, with a stern endeavor,
We ruled the main, and lashed foul Spain
From our Western world forever!
113
GRIDLEY.
Captain Charles E. Gridley, Commander of Dewey's flagship, was noted as having fired the first shot in the great harbor-battle in Manila. He died of a fever, soon after winning his honors. The author knew him from boyhood, and his struggles to reach the proud position that he held at the time of his death.
Captain Charles E. Gridley, Commander of Dewey's flagship, was noted as having fired the first shot in the great harbor-battle in Manila. He died of a fever, soon after winning his honors. The author knew him from boyhood, and his struggles to reach the proud position that he held at the time of his death.
Not till the fight was done,
Not till the last fierce gun
Startled the wave,
Didst thou, at Death's low call,
Turning thy back to all,
Sail for the grave.
Not till the last fierce gun
Startled the wave,
Didst thou, at Death's low call,
Turning thy back to all,
Sail for the grave.
Glory withheld till now
Gleamed on thy modest brow,
'Mid plaudits grand;
Warrior of ocean, we
Waited with wreaths for thee
In thine own land.
Gleamed on thy modest brow,
'Mid plaudits grand;
Warrior of ocean, we
Waited with wreaths for thee
In thine own land.
Those that thou lovedst were here,
Yearning till thou was near
To tell their pride;
Through many an ocean-storm,
Hearts ever fond and warm
Sailed by thy side.
Yearning till thou was near
To tell their pride;
Through many an ocean-storm,
Hearts ever fond and warm
Sailed by thy side.
True as they ship's good steel,
Hiding, with Spartan zeal,
The murderous pain,
In ocean's grandest fight
Thy hand was first to smite
The brow of Spain.
Hiding, with Spartan zeal,
The murderous pain,
In ocean's grandest fight
Thy hand was first to smite
The brow of Spain.
Firmer than mountain-rocks
That breast the storm-cloud shocks—
With courage proud
Didst thou on fury's track
Iron thunderbolts hurl back,
And rend the cloud.
That breast the storm-cloud shocks—
With courage proud
114
Iron thunderbolts hurl back,
And rend the cloud.
Not till thy fame's bright star
Had pierced the mists of war,
And glittered high,
Did thy choice spirit turn,
And, higher rank to earn,
Seek the blue sky.
Had pierced the mists of war,
And glittered high,
Did thy choice spirit turn,
And, higher rank to earn,
Seek the blue sky.
115
COMIN' BACK TO 'PELIER.
This was published and copied in newspapers throughout United States, several months before Admiral Dewey came home from his Manila triumph. The author had the privilege of seeing his prophecy fulfilled, and of witnessing the wonderful welcome given to the ocean-warrior at his home town, Montpelier, Vermont, on October 12, 1899.
This was published and copied in newspapers throughout United States, several months before Admiral Dewey came home from his Manila triumph. The author had the privilege of seeing his prophecy fulfilled, and of witnessing the wonderful welcome given to the ocean-warrior at his home town, Montpelier, Vermont, on October 12, 1899.
Vermont Farmer's Version.
Dewey's comin! load the anvils! fill the welcome-cup!
Comin' back of 'Pelier, whar he hed his bringin' up;
Comin' from the torrid zone, an' the battle's brunt—
Fetchin' us a history—his pictur' way in front!
Wabblin' under praises more than he can count,
An' goin' to bring the whole thing back to old Varmount!
Yes, they'll try to spile him, when he gits as fur as 'York:
Give him linen napkins, an' a silver knife an' fork;
Speechin' him an' preachin' him, an' tryin' to explain
Somethin' that he knows already—how he walloped Spain;
Showin' him the Brooklyn Bridge in reg'lar welcome-trim,
Tryin' to make out, p'rhaps, they built it all for him;
Feedin' him on china, for his breakfas', dine, an' sup;
But you wait till he's in 'Pelier, where he hed his bringin'-up!
Comin' back of 'Pelier, whar he hed his bringin' up;
Comin' from the torrid zone, an' the battle's brunt—
Fetchin' us a history—his pictur' way in front!
Wabblin' under praises more than he can count,
An' goin' to bring the whole thing back to old Varmount!
Yes, they'll try to spile him, when he gits as fur as 'York:
Give him linen napkins, an' a silver knife an' fork;
Speechin' him an' preachin' him, an' tryin' to explain
Somethin' that he knows already—how he walloped Spain;
Showin' him the Brooklyn Bridge in reg'lar welcome-trim,
Tryin' to make out, p'rhaps, they built it all for him;
Feedin' him on china, for his breakfas', dine, an' sup;
But you wait till he's in 'Pelier, where he hed his bringin'-up!
Yes, it's somethin', these here honors thankful people give,
In the towns an' counties whar he didn't use to live;
Nothin', you will see, though, the hearts of townsmen melts,
Like a townsman's honors he hez picked up somewhar else!
Ain't no room fur jealousy, when they thus advance:
“All of us c'u'd done the same, ef we'd hed a chance!”
Let 'em give him gilded houses, fur a splendid prison:
But when he lands in 'Pelier, all the village will be his'n!
In the towns an' counties whar he didn't use to live;
Nothin', you will see, though, the hearts of townsmen melts,
Like a townsman's honors he hez picked up somewhar else!
Ain't no room fur jealousy, when they thus advance:
“All of us c'u'd done the same, ef we'd hed a chance!”
Let 'em give him gilded houses, fur a splendid prison:
But when he lands in 'Pelier, all the village will be his'n!
Folks'll come from all p'ints—a hundred miles may be,
To view the hill-bred sailor that is hero of the sea;
Island-born an' prairie-born the contrac' often fills,
But fur somethin' more'n unusual, try the everlastin' hills!
Men'll turn their backs to the mountains fur to see him,
Boys'll sprout ambition, an'll wish that they could be him;
Ol' maids they will wonder how they ever came to miss him,
Galls'll sort o' flutter, an'll wish that they could kiss him.
Ol' Seth Warner's honored ghost'll haste to see the show,
Brave Remember Baker'll be among the first to go;
An' it's tol'ble certain, that before the spree is done,
Colonel Ethan Allen'll be up from Burlin'ton.
But George won't turkey 'roun' no more, I'll bet ye, ten to one,
Than in days when he wa'n't nothin' 'ceptin' Ol' Doc Dewey's son.
To view the hill-bred sailor that is hero of the sea;
Island-born an' prairie-born the contrac' often fills,
But fur somethin' more'n unusual, try the everlastin' hills!
116
Boys'll sprout ambition, an'll wish that they could be him;
Ol' maids they will wonder how they ever came to miss him,
Galls'll sort o' flutter, an'll wish that they could kiss him.
Ol' Seth Warner's honored ghost'll haste to see the show,
Brave Remember Baker'll be among the first to go;
An' it's tol'ble certain, that before the spree is done,
Colonel Ethan Allen'll be up from Burlin'ton.
But George won't turkey 'roun' no more, I'll bet ye, ten to one,
Than in days when he wa'n't nothin' 'ceptin' Ol' Doc Dewey's son.
Dewey's comin'—fire the anvils! drain the welcome-cup!
Comin' down to 'Pelier, whar he hed his bringin'-up;
Dewey's comin'! wave the banners! string 'em all about!
Comin' down to 'Pelier, whar he form'ly started out;
Bringin' new geogeraphies, a year or less in age,
That's got his pictur', true as life, right on the openin' page!
Comin' down to 'Pelier, whar he hed his bringin'-up;
Dewey's comin'! wave the banners! string 'em all about!
Comin' down to 'Pelier, whar he form'ly started out;
Bringin' new geogeraphies, a year or less in age,
That's got his pictur', true as life, right on the openin' page!
117
IN THE WRECKAGE OF THE MAINE.
In the farm-lands or the city
Grieves a woman—sad—alone;
'Neath God's everlasting pity
She is weeping for her own.
Cabinets have toiled and wrangled,
Statesmen could not soothe her pain—
For that weary heart is tangled
In the wreckage of the Maine.
Grieves a woman—sad—alone;
'Neath God's everlasting pity
She is weeping for her own.
Cabinets have toiled and wrangled,
Statesmen could not soothe her pain—
For that weary heart is tangled
In the wreckage of the Maine.
Through the golden halls of fashion
Moves a lady tall and fair;
Round her gleam the flames of passion
On the soft magnetic air.
Suitors bow and bend above her,
But their wiles are all in vain:
She is thinking of a lover
In the wreckage of the Maine.
Moves a lady tall and fair;
Round her gleam the flames of passion
On the soft magnetic air.
Suitors bow and bend above her,
But their wiles are all in vain:
She is thinking of a lover
In the wreckage of the Maine.
On a cot, the sailor lying
Rests his soul in silent prayer;
Through the long days he is dying;
But his tears are falling there
For the gallant fellow-seamen
Who will rest, while Time shall reign,
In that sepulchre of freemen,
'Neath the wreckage of the Maine.
Rests his soul in silent prayer;
Through the long days he is dying;
But his tears are falling there
For the gallant fellow-seamen
Who will rest, while Time shall reign,
In that sepulchre of freemen,
'Neath the wreckage of the Maine.
On a continent of splendor
Is a nation calmly grand—
Freedom's natural defender—
Honest labor's helping hand:
And it speaks, half kind, half cruel:
“Liberty, O haughty Spain,
Soon may grasp another jewel
From the wreckage of the Maine!”
Is a nation calmly grand—
Freedom's natural defender—
Honest labor's helping hand:
And it speaks, half kind, half cruel:
“Liberty, O haughty Spain,
Soon may grasp another jewel
From the wreckage of the Maine!”
118
CUBA TO COLUMBIA.
A voice went over the waters—
A stormy edge of the sea—
Fairest of Freedom's daughters,
Have you no help for me?
Do you not hear the rusty chain
Clanking about my feet?
Have you not seen my children slain,
Whether in cell or street?
Oh, if you were sad as I,
And I as you were strong,
You would not have to call or cry—
You would not suffer long!
A stormy edge of the sea—
Fairest of Freedom's daughters,
Have you no help for me?
Do you not hear the rusty chain
Clanking about my feet?
Have you not seen my children slain,
Whether in cell or street?
Oh, if you were sad as I,
And I as you were strong,
You would not have to call or cry—
You would not suffer long!
“Patience”?—have I not learned it,
Under the crushing years?
Freedom—have I not earned it,
Toiling with blood and tears?
“Not of you?”—my banners wave
Not on Egyptian shore,
Or by Armenia's mammoth grave—
But at your very door!
Oh, if you were needy as I,
And I as you were strong,
You should not suffer, bleed, and die,
Under the hoofs of wrong!
Under the crushing years?
Freedom—have I not earned it,
Toiling with blood and tears?
“Not of you?”—my banners wave
Not on Egyptian shore,
Or by Armenia's mammoth grave—
But at your very door!
Oh, if you were needy as I,
And I as you were strong,
119
Under the hoofs of wrong!
Is it that you have never
Felt the oppressor's hand,
Fighting, with fond endeavor,
To cling to your own sweet land?
Were you not half dismayed,
There in the century's night,
Till to your view a sister's aid
Came, like a flash of light?
Oh, what gift could ever be grand
Enough to pay the debt,
If out of the starry Western land,
Should come my Lafayette!
Felt the oppressor's hand,
Fighting, with fond endeavor,
To cling to your own sweet land?
Were you not half dismayed,
There in the century's night,
Till to your view a sister's aid
Came, like a flash of light?
Oh, what gift could ever be grand
Enough to pay the debt,
If out of the starry Western land,
Should come my Lafayette!
120
COLUMBIA TO CUBA.
A voice went over the waters—
The edge of a sunlit sea—
Newest of Freedom's daughters,
My help went out to thee.
Time it was that the West should aid
A sister of the West,
When her own mother's jewelled blade
Was stabbing at her breast!
Where in battle my bullets flew
Along your gallant shore,
Much indeed I was aiding you—
But Civilization more!
The edge of a sunlit sea—
Newest of Freedom's daughters,
My help went out to thee.
Time it was that the West should aid
A sister of the West,
When her own mother's jewelled blade
Was stabbing at her breast!
Where in battle my bullets flew
Along your gallant shore,
Much indeed I was aiding you—
But Civilization more!
Patience?—yes, you have learned it:
And, now, 'neath Freedom's sky,
See that you have not spurned it,
As years go hurrying by.
Yes!—we are dwelling side by side,
Ready for clasp or thrust:
Long may this friendship be our pride,
Fruiting to love and trust.
You to keep the rescued land
Still to the rescuer true—
We to vow that Tyranny's hand
Never shall fall on you!
And, now, 'neath Freedom's sky,
See that you have not spurned it,
As years go hurrying by.
Yes!—we are dwelling side by side,
Ready for clasp or thrust:
Long may this friendship be our pride,
Fruiting to love and trust.
You to keep the rescued land
Still to the rescuer true—
121
Never shall fall on you!
If to your glance my starry flame
Looks like a welcome bright,
Cherish the thought from which it came,
In your ambition's sight.
Do not on the horizon rest—
Do not sink below:
Rise, O new-born star of the West,
Unto meridian glow!
Climb to OUR constellation
That all earth awes and cheers,
And—nation within a nation—
Gleam bright for a thousand years!
Looks like a welcome bright,
Cherish the thought from which it came,
In your ambition's sight.
Do not on the horizon rest—
Do not sink below:
Rise, O new-born star of the West,
Unto meridian glow!
Climb to OUR constellation
That all earth awes and cheers,
And—nation within a nation—
Gleam bright for a thousand years!
122
COLLOQUY OF GRIEF.
Nation bright with the sunrise-glow—
Full of the century's throbbing—
Why do you bow your head so low?
Why do we hear you sobbing? ........
Death has climbed to my highest place,
And tears of a people are no disgrace;
Sorrow is better told than kept;
And grief is holy, for God has wept.
Full of the century's throbbing—
Why do you bow your head so low?
Why do we hear you sobbing? ........
Death has climbed to my highest place,
And tears of a people are no disgrace;
Sorrow is better told than kept;
And grief is holy, for God has wept.
Nation with banner of oldest birth,
Stars to the high stars sweeping,
Why have you not a flag on earth,
But to the half-mast creeping? ........
Many a brave man had to die,
To hold those colors against the sky;
Agonies such as this reveal
That every banner to Heaven must kneel!
Stars to the high stars sweeping,
Why have you not a flag on earth,
But to the half-mast creeping? ........
Many a brave man had to die,
To hold those colors against the sky;
Agonies such as this reveal
That every banner to Heaven must kneel!
Nation with tasks that might appal
Planets of weak endeavor,
Why did the best man of you all
Sail from your shores forever? ........
Not forever and not from sight.
But nearer to God's sweet kindly light:
Through the mists to a stormless sea,
Where all the heroes of ages be.
Planets of weak endeavor,
Why did the best man of you all
Sail from your shores forever? ........
Not forever and not from sight.
But nearer to God's sweet kindly light:
Through the mists to a stormless sea,
Where all the heroes of ages be.
Nation with weapons fierce and grim,
Sharpen with rage your sadness:
Tear the murderer limb from limb—
Torture him into madness! ........
No! I have Heaven too much in awe,
The law to avenge with lack of law:
Take we the soul from its tainted clod,
And lay it down at the feet of God.
Sharpen with rage your sadness:
Tear the murderer limb from limb—
Torture him into madness! ........
No! I have Heaven too much in awe,
123
Take we the soul from its tainted clod,
And lay it down at the feet of God.
Nation whose love for home ne'er dies,
Cruel the clouds that hover!
What do you say when a woman cries,
“Give me my husband-lover?” ........
Sad heart, carry the grievous wrong
In Faith's own arms; it will not be long.
Here, and in lands you never knew,
He more than ever will comfort you.
Cruel the clouds that hover!
What do you say when a woman cries,
“Give me my husband-lover?” ........
Sad heart, carry the grievous wrong
In Faith's own arms; it will not be long.
Here, and in lands you never knew,
He more than ever will comfort you.
Nation of many tribes and lands—
Strength of the world's best nations,
Say! would a million murderous hands
Crumble your deep foundations? ........
Never! no poison e'er can blight
The flowers and fruitage of truth and right;
Never! the land that the tyrant fears,
Shall live in splendor a thousand years!
Strength of the world's best nations,
Say! would a million murderous hands
Crumble your deep foundations? ........
Never! no poison e'er can blight
The flowers and fruitage of truth and right;
Never! the land that the tyrant fears,
Shall live in splendor a thousand years!
124
A MAN HAS DIED.
A man has died—and so have myriads more—
They will, while yet this dying earth lives on;
But when a leader makes the utmost shore,
We sadly look toward where his ship has gone,
And only get this message from the dead:
“Study the past: my words have all been said.”
They will, while yet this dying earth lives on;
But when a leader makes the utmost shore,
We sadly look toward where his ship has gone,
And only get this message from the dead:
“Study the past: my words have all been said.”
A woman mourns—as woman always must,
So long as joy has penalties of pain;
How sadly creeps that sweet soul in the dust!
And yet her fearful woe is not in vain:
It teaches us that though love long endure,
Only in Heaven its raptures are secure.
So long as joy has penalties of pain;
How sadly creeps that sweet soul in the dust!
And yet her fearful woe is not in vain:
It teaches us that though love long endure,
Only in Heaven its raptures are secure.
125
THE VICTORY-WRECK.
O stealthily-creeping Merrimac,
Hush low your fiery breath:
You who gave life to ships of strife
Are sailing unto your death!—
“I am ready and dressed for burial,
Beneath the Cuban wave;
But still I can fight for God and right,
While resting in my grave!”
Hush low your fiery breath:
You who gave life to ships of strife
Are sailing unto your death!—
“I am ready and dressed for burial,
Beneath the Cuban wave;
But still I can fight for God and right,
While resting in my grave!”
O men that are sailing the Merrimac,
Your hearts are beating high;
But send a prayer through the smoking air,
To your Captain in the sky!—
“We know there is death in every breath,
As we cling to the gunless deck;
And grand will be our voyage, if we
Can make of our ship a wreck!”
Your hearts are beating high;
But send a prayer through the smoking air,
To your Captain in the sky!—
“We know there is death in every breath,
As we cling to the gunless deck;
And grand will be our voyage, if we
Can make of our ship a wreck!”
Now drop the bower of the Merrimac,
And swing her with the tide.
Now scuttle her, braves, and bid the waves
Sweep into her shattered side!—
“Through a flying hell of shot and shell,
We passed Death, with a sneer;
We wrenched our life from the novel strife,
And even our foemen cheer!”
And swing her with the tide.
Now scuttle her, braves, and bid the waves
Sweep into her shattered side!—
“Through a flying hell of shot and shell,
We passed Death, with a sneer;
We wrenched our life from the novel strife,
And even our foemen cheer!”
126
LIBERTY'S TORCH.
Out of the east comes a maiden
Over the rough stormy sea,
Full of good gifts for us laden—
Love from the free to the free.
Now with her torch brightly glowing,
In our chief gateway she stands,
Liberty's radiance throwing
Over the seas and the lands.
Over the rough stormy sea,
Full of good gifts for us laden—
Love from the free to the free.
Now with her torch brightly glowing,
In our chief gateway she stands,
Liberty's radiance throwing
Over the seas and the lands.
Men by their firesides wherever
News of the world is a guest,
Talk of the gift and the giver—
Know of our star in the west.
Even the ancient defenders
Cannot this symbol forget:
Washington knows of its splendors—
So does the proud Lafayette.
News of the world is a guest,
Talk of the gift and the giver—
Know of our star in the west.
Even the ancient defenders
Cannot this symbol forget:
Washington knows of its splendors—
So does the proud Lafayette.
Tell me, O well-studied scholars
Of the world's glory and shame,
Now should a few paltry dollars
Spoil this beneficent flame?
Ask of our friends and our foemen,
Ask of our hopes and our doubt—
Can we withstand the dread omen
Ever to see it go out?
Of the world's glory and shame,
Now should a few paltry dollars
Spoil this beneficent flame?
Ask of our friends and our foemen,
Ask of our hopes and our doubt—
127
Ever to see it go out?
Let not our colors be fading!
Let not a sceptre and crown—
Let not the triumphs of trading—
Trample our sentiment down!
Ice-blooded tyranny, listen!
Patriots, we laugh at your fears!
Liberty's emblem shall glisten
Yet for a thousand of years!
Let not a sceptre and crown—
Let not the triumphs of trading—
Trample our sentiment down!
Ice-blooded tyranny, listen!
Patriots, we laugh at your fears!
Liberty's emblem shall glisten
Yet for a thousand of years!
| Songs of two centuries | |