 | The Writings of Bret Harte |  |
328
POEM
DELIVERED AT THE PATRIOTIC EXERCISES IN THE METROPOLITAN THEATRE, SAN FRANCISCO, JULY 4, 1863.
(Written for the event by the poet of the day, Bret Harte, and read by the Reverend Thomas Sir King.)
It's hard, on Independence Day, to find, with Thomas Moore,
Your “Minstrel boy,” his harp and song has taken to the war—
To ask some sober citizen to seize the passing time
And turn from scanning “silver feet” to cesuras of rhyme!
Your “Minstrel boy,” his harp and song has taken to the war—
To ask some sober citizen to seize the passing time
And turn from scanning “silver feet” to cesuras of rhyme!
But then we need no poet's aid to lift our eyes and look
Beyond our Ledger's narrow rim, and post the nation's book—
To strike our country's balance-sheet, nor shrink in foolish pride
Because the ink is black that brings a balance to our side!
Beyond our Ledger's narrow rim, and post the nation's book—
To strike our country's balance-sheet, nor shrink in foolish pride
Because the ink is black that brings a balance to our side!
We 've names enough of rhythmic swell our halting verse to fill,
There 's Bennington, and Concord Bridge, and Breed's or Bunker's Hill;
There 's Lexington and Valley Forge—whose anvils' ringing peal,
Beat out on dreary winter nights the Continental steel!
There 's Bennington, and Concord Bridge, and Breed's or Bunker's Hill;
There 's Lexington and Valley Forge—whose anvils' ringing peal,
Beat out on dreary winter nights the Continental steel!
There 's Yorktown, Trenton, Stony Point, King's Mill and Brandywine
To end—in lieu of rebel's necks—some patriotic line;
There 's Saratoga—Monmouth too—who can our limit fix?
Enough—the total added up is known as Seventy-Six!
To end—in lieu of rebel's necks—some patriotic line;
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Enough—the total added up is known as Seventy-Six!
With themes like these to flush the cheek, and bid the pulses play
Amidst the glories of the Past, we gather here to-day—
The twig our Fathers planted then has grown a spreading tree,
Whose branches sift their blossoms white, to-day, on either sea!
Amidst the glories of the Past, we gather here to-day—
The twig our Fathers planted then has grown a spreading tree,
Whose branches sift their blossoms white, to-day, on either sea!
We 've grown too large, some people think—our neighbor, 'cross the way—
Suggests Division, though—just now—substraction 's more his way—
(But he 's a Diplomatic friend we neither seek nor fear,
Who gives the North his public voice—the South his privateer!)
Suggests Division, though—just now—substraction 's more his way—
(But he 's a Diplomatic friend we neither seek nor fear,
Who gives the North his public voice—the South his privateer!)
No, no, we stand alone to-day, as when, one fierce July,
The sinking lion saw new stars flash from the western sky—
To-day, old vows our hearts renew—these throes that shake the Earth
Are but the pangs that usher in the Nation's newer birth!
The sinking lion saw new stars flash from the western sky—
To-day, old vows our hearts renew—these throes that shake the Earth
Are but the pangs that usher in the Nation's newer birth!
God keep us all—defend the right—draw nearer while we sing
The song our country asks to-day, till hills and valleys ring;
(But first we'll draw our metre's rein e'er we again begin,
As soldiers from their battle front when ranks are closing in.)
(The Song)
The song our country asks to-day, till hills and valleys ring;
(But first we'll draw our metre's rein e'er we again begin,
As soldiers from their battle front when ranks are closing in.)
O, God of our country—if silent we come,
With wreaths that are old to thy altar to-day;
'T is but that elsewhere, to the beat of thy drum,
Our love pours its roses far redder than they!
With wreaths that are old to thy altar to-day;
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Our love pours its roses far redder than they!
If the ring of our silver and gold be untrue,
And chimes no accord to the clash of thy steel;
It changes, dissolving, to fall like the dew,
In silence to strengthen—in mercy to heal!
And chimes no accord to the clash of thy steel;
It changes, dissolving, to fall like the dew,
In silence to strengthen—in mercy to heal!
Shall the ties that we love by false hands be unbound?
Shall we turn away when our brothers appeal
To the youngest of all—who, like Benjamin, found
The silver cup hid in his measure of meal?
Shall we turn away when our brothers appeal
To the youngest of all—who, like Benjamin, found
The silver cup hid in his measure of meal?
No, Lord, we are one—we must come to thy door,
As martyrs, together—together as free;
Though the tempest that lashes the rough Plymouth shore
Shall mingle its spray with the calm Western sea!
As martyrs, together—together as free;
Though the tempest that lashes the rough Plymouth shore
Shall mingle its spray with the calm Western sea!
Far better the tempest than yon lurid glow
That lights, while it mocks, the deep gloom of the sky—
Far better the lightning that smites with one blow,
Than the Copperhead's crest as uplifted on high!
That lights, while it mocks, the deep gloom of the sky—
Far better the lightning that smites with one blow,
Than the Copperhead's crest as uplifted on high!
Let the foe tempt our youth in his treacherous haste,
Our blades shall defend the bright colors we bear;
As our Cactus protects in the desolate waste,
The one tint of Eden that God has left there!
Our blades shall defend the bright colors we bear;
As our Cactus protects in the desolate waste,
The one tint of Eden that God has left there!
Then one ringing cheer for the deed and the day—
One smile for the present—one tear for the past;
Lord! lend us thine ear when thy servants shall pray,
Our future may show how thy mercies still last!
One smile for the present—one tear for the past;
Lord! lend us thine ear when thy servants shall pray,
Our future may show how thy mercies still last!
| The Writings of Bret Harte | |