O, ye who frame the sovereign law,
And heal the hurts of ocean isles
Till hid are savage tooth and claw
And Peace above the battle smiles,—
If Justice reigns and Mercy clings,
What think ye, Masters, of these things?
The Father of the Waters greets
Imperial sisters proud and great,
And nation mighty nation meets
At festal boards of lordly state:
But one—one only,—maketh moan:
Denied the Star, she weeps alone!
The cycles fly on eagled wings:
A hundred years have run their quest
Since he who bought and sold with kings
An empire added to the West:
And all his regions rulers are
Save her alone who mourns the Star.
The wildness in a moment died;
A garden bloomed and fruited full
Across the plains and valleys wide
At touch of hands invincible;
But mute she stands where deserts were:
The banner holds no Star for her!
The race heaps high its conquered spoil;
The braggart heirs of all men do
Assemble where the Triumphs toil
In marshaled columns for review;
And she, the Starless, at your call
Brings trophies that surpass them all!
Are not her laurels rich and rare?
Her apt attainments great with grace?
You crown her here and everywhere
Save where she pleads for power and place;
The world amazed her praises rings:
What think ye, Masters, of these things?
She wonders wrought with wondrous hands:
Her cities crowd the teeming plains,
And church and school exalt the lands
With all of mankind's greater gains;—
The last of all the waste, she brings
The triumphs of her million kings!
A million white and black and red
Whose treble toils misunderstood
Build happy homes and fondly wed
The desert place with joyous good,
And at your feet, uncrowned, unblest
Kneel for the knighthood of their quest!
Thralled in her chains, this fairest one
Of all the realms that greatly found
Rich largess on the barrens dun
Pleads from her fetters, vassal-bound;
And still the Star before her swings:
What think ye, Masters, of these things?