University of Virginia Library

From Dan to Beersheba of this our land
Of promise have I passed, from strand to strand;
Have seen the moon o'er Campo Bello rise,
And watched the sun in far South-western skies,
What time his fiery axle, wheeling slow,
Stood on the reddening Gulf of Mexico.
Slowly I've labored, with the panting steam,
Up Mississippi's tortuous, turbid stream,
Where, at each bend, each wood-crowned sweep, behold
Sea after sea its noble bays unfold!
There, in the glimmering dusk, when far-off trees
Like spectres stand, the cheated vision sees
Strange shows of fleets and fleet-girt cities, rife
With all the stir of busy human life.
Mark, as by magic, Orient Stamboul rise!
Its bristling masts, a forest, meet your eyes,
Where, half of sight and half of fancy born,
Wind the bright waters of the Golden Horn.
And now, 'mid hoary, reverend groves we glide,
Where Gunga's thousand islets break the tide;
Where, robed with pendant moss, the aged trees
Stand like the priests of Nature's mysteries.
Fades each fair vision with a puff of steam,
As onward still we labor up the stream.
But, lo! where, in her stateliness and pride,
Looks out o'er all the valley, far and wide,
That young queen city, “thronèd by the West,”
What visions of the future fire the breast!
Eastward she looks; and seems, with noble eye,
Her proud Atlantic sisters to defy,
And glow in the great race and rivalry.
With reverent step and swelling heart I've pressed
The boundless prairie of the teeming West;
And where the northern lakes, a mighty chain,
Stretch their bright links along our vast domain,
There have I travelled,—there, transported, seen
Blue inland oceans, piny oceans green.
And where New England's Alps majestic rise,
I've climbed that rocky island in the skies,
Whence, seen afar, our noble rivers glance
Like threads of silver in the broad expanse;
And where earth seems a living map—no more—
Dotted with towns, with forests speckled o'er.
And I have stood, and felt a nameless thrill
Of reverence and rapture, on the hill,
Where, calmly looking down on the fair shore
Of Chesapeake and stately Baltimore,
In emblematic, marble majesty,
Stands Washington, “in the clear, upper sky,”
And breathes his benediction.

Have not we
A goodly heritage from sea to sea,
From lake to gulf? What noble rivers pour
Their inland tribute to the extended shore!
O'er rolling upland and on waving plain,
By town and farm, what peace and plenty reign!
And must the day come when fraternal war
Shall rend our mighty empire, star from star?
Or (worse) Corruption's canker eat the chain
No earthly arm had power to snap in twain?
Must the day come, when over freemen's graves
Their shameless sons shall walk, the slaves of slaves?
When the proud flag, whose field of starry blue
Tells of the sky, whence our young Freedom drew
Her life's first breath,—the flag, whose stripes of red
Tell of the brave who at her summons bled,—
Shall droop inglorious, or dishonored lie,
A taunt, a jest, a sign of infamy?
Benignant Heaven, forbid! and ye, whose dust
Our soil, “from Maine to Georgia,” holds in trust!
Forbid it, living sons of those dead sires,
Who lit on Freedom's heights the morn-watch-fires,
Whose heart's blood, when they fell, enriched the sod,
And scattered seed of valor far abroad,
That, mouldering in full many a furrow, lies,
Our nobler harvest, ripening for the skies!
Gone is the day when our young eagle heard
The cry of war, and in his eyrie stirred;
When Quincy saw the blood-red dawning nigh,
And Warren, at the call, made haste to die;
When Otis, Adams, fanned the kindling flame,
And Hancock pledged a patriot merchant's name;
Gone is the day,—compatriots, never more
May dawn its like!—when, ghastly-red with gore,
Yon altar-height the smoke of sacrifice
Sent up, in summer sunlight, to the skies.
Gone is the day; and, oh, not soon may men
Beat back the ploughshare to a sword again!
Yet warfare, brothers, is our honored lot,
A warfare that, while life lasts, endeth not.