It is they, of whom we may profitably inquire. A nation may be rich, though the people may be poor; a nation may be strong, while the people are weak; a nation may be feared because the people can be relied upon to obey designing masters, but the true greatness of a nation must ever depend upon the quality of the individuals composing the nation.
“In America, my children, they sing many choruses. Listening across the sea, the groans of despair are heard, mingled with the inspiring chants of robed priests, and, the public heart being touched with pity, the bandmaster mounts his pedestal, looks serenely benevolent, and, raising his baton with gracefully curving signals, the populace join in one voice:—
‘Come, ye, from lands oppressed,
Come, ye, from east and west,
Come, join our happy throng,
Come, join in joyous song,—
For in this goodly land, nor want, nor poor,
No kings oppress, no beggars seek the door.
In Plenty’s beauteous lap we wile the days away,
Come, ‘walk into our trap’—why need you long delay?’
“These dulcet tones were always supposed to help fill the immigrant ships, the vacancies caused by the strike, and the land-boomer’s pockets, but just as the last faint echoes die away, there arises from the narrow lane ‘hard by’—just off Broadway—the plaintive wail:—
‘Do ye hear the children weeping, O my brothers,
E’er the sorrow comes with years?
They are leaning their young heads against their mothers,
And that cannot stop their tears.
The young lambs are bleating in the meadows,
The young birds are chirping in the nest,
The young fawns are playing with the shadows,
The young flowers are blowing toward the West,—
But the young, young children, O my brothers,
They are weeping bitterly!
They are weeping in the playtime of the others,
In the country of the free.’
“Of course, my children, these borrowed lamentations may come from the fellows who were left out in the cold at the last elections, for one ‘can’t most always sometimes tell,’ in America, whence come the inspiring motives of the entertainment.
“Let me tell you a little story, my children.
“One November afternoon, while on a west-bound train, I had as a travelling companion a very intelligent, patriotic, and sorrowful man. His manner was subdued, his voice was plaintive, and he spoke earnestly of the condition of his country.
“Skipping his most emphatic words, and toning down portions of his most lurid sentences, I will recite to you the substance of his fervid oration as we hurried over the plains to overtake the rapidly sinking sun.
“Speaking of the greatness of America, my friend said, ‘Some qualifying words may be necessary, or the ideas sought to be conveyed may be confusing. We Americans,’ said he, ‘boast of “equality before the law,” yet in no other civilised country has favoritism been carried to more deplorable extremes. We boast of freedom, yet in no country does a smaller number of men control the conditions under which all must live, and we boast of our constitutionally guarded rights, yet the accidental head of a party may exercise a power unthinkable by any constitutional monarch of Europe.’