| 3.
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The panther slunk into his lair,
The she-wolf hid within her den,
And there was peace and plenty there,
For God had blessed the hands of men.
Lo! towns, and states and cities rose,
And flocks were fed in every glen;
It was the bloss'ming of the rose,
For God had blessed the hands of men.
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. . . . . . . .
. . . . . . . .
|
Oh! would that Peace might ever rest
Her heav'nly wings on every shore;
Then were mankind divinely blest,
And men should learn of war no more.
Pray, pray for that good hour in store,
When men shall learn of war no more.
|
| 1.
|
Oh! England, England, tell us where,
Where had we wronged thee — how, and when?
Hadst thou forgot thy children there,
Although thy children, yet were men?
Hadst thou forgot that clime, and sea,
And growing years bring wider range,
A larger hope, a destiny
That laws nor wars can ever change?
|
| 2.
|
Thy armies came, thy navies flung
Their flags o'er many an inland sea;
And soon the hills of England rung
With shouts and thanks for victory.
With shouts and thanks, but echoing there,
The answer came from swamp and glen,
You've driven the tiger to his lair —
God help you when he comes again.
|
| 3.
|
Towns, cities blazed, barefooted men
Tramped where our Western rivers flow;
They left their marks behind them, then,
In bloody lines on frozen snow.
'Twas death — aye, more to them, but know
Men oft'nest earn their freedom so.
|
| 4.
|
Orphans and widows wept in vain,
And armies sank for want of bread;
Death stalked through every wood and plain,
And fields were left unharvested.
Still would they yield not — no, beware!
God's will is worked through man's despair.
|
| 5.
|
Days, months, and years, they wavered not,
Nor asked the number of their foe;
By wounds, by death, they cheaply bought
The rights their grateful children know;
The fairest right that heaven can give, —
Unfettered in their faith to live.
|
| 6.
|
They conquered, and a nation sprung
To life, to greatness in the West;
And the wide world her praises sung,
She was the freest and the best.
She was the freest and the one
Whose soil no tyrant dared to tread —
For lo! above, about her shone
The mystery of her sacred dead.
Fate chose but one, but one — 'twas she,
To lead mankind to liberty.
|
| . . . . . . . .
|
It is a century since then —
A hundred years to-day, and men
Tell all the old tales o'er again;
How she was born, our land, how bred,
And how the life her children led
By faith and peace was hallowed;
How well she kept her promised vow
To lead the way — to help the oppressed
Of every land and clime, and how
Men worshipped her, and she was blest.
How commerce came, and all that fate
Ordains to glorify a State
Waited on her, and she was great.
Each wind that blew, each sail that bent,
Seemed like some gift divinely sent
To help enrich a continent.
The world was envious, too — but no,
Kings could not stop what fate had told;
Hills, rocks unbound themselves, and lo!
Their breasts were filled with oil and gold.
|
| . . . . . . . .
|
What more? The land was blessed, and grew
Like Eden fair, but never knew,
Like it, she nursed a tempter, too.
A tempter — black, fit child of hell;
He came, and half the nation fell.
|
|
|
They fell, and where the daisies grew,
Lo! cannon belched their poisonous breath —
And war her red-mouthed trumpet blew,
And wedding morns saw nights of death.
The hand of fate lay heavy then,
For God had cursed the ways of men.
|
|
|
Dark months and years, the storm-cloud swept
Her course across a widowed land
But, lo! the God of battles kept
The nation in his pitying hand.
At last, at last, the burning smoke
Faded before her silent guns,
But louder than her cannon spoke
The shroudless bodies of her sons.
Weep, fading clouds, speak, silent guns,
And honor these, her fallen ones.
Dead was the tempter, dead the past,
And men forgot their burning hate,
For hates and angers cannot last
With men whose foes were good, or great.
Sleep on, ye braves, ye shroudless ones!
Men shall not ask which side ye stood:
Enough, ye were the nation's sons,
And ye are dead, and God is good.
It little recks where men have stood,
When Heav'n forgives, and God is good.
|
| 1.
|
Again the peaceful lilies bloom,
And kiss the graves of friend and foe;
Again, again, the busy loom
Sends its dear music to and fro;
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