And they who founded, in our land,
The power that rules from sea to sea,
Bled they in vain, or vainly planned
To leave their country great and free?
Their sleeping ashes, from below,
Send up the thrilling murmur, No!
Knit they the gentle ties which long
These sister States were proud to wear,
And forged the kindly links so strong
For idle hands in sport to tear—
For scornful hands aside to throw?
No, by our fathers' memories, No!
Our humming marts, our iron ways,
Our wind-tossed woods on mountain crest,
The hoarse Atlantic, with his bays,
The calm, broad Ocean of the West,
And Mississippi's torrent flow,
And loud Niagara, answer, No!
Not yet the hour is nigh, when they
Who deep in Eld's dim twilight sit,
Earth's ancient kings, shall rise and say,
"Proud country, welcome to the pit!
So soon art thou, like us, brought low?"
No, sullen group of shadows, No!
For now, behold the arm that gave
The victory in our fathers' day,
Strong as of old, to guard and save—
That mighty arm which none can stay—
On clouds above and fields below,
Writes, in men's sight, the answer, No!
W. C. Bryant.
CCCXXIV.
THE AMERICAN FLAG.
At last, at last, each glowing star
In that pure field of heavenly blue,
On every people shining far,
Burns, to its utmost promise true.
Hopes in our fathers' hearts that stirred,
Justice, the seal of peace, long scorned,
O perfect peace! too long deferred,
At last, at last, your day has dawned.
Your day has dawned, but many an hour
Of storm and cloud, of doubt and tears,
Across the eternal sky must lower,
Before the glorious noon appears.