As the day-spring unbounded, thy splendor shall flow, Thus, as down a lone valley, with cedars o'erspread, The queen of the world, and the child of the skies." Timothy Dwight [1752-1817] "он мотHER OF A MIGHTY RACE" Он mother of a mighty race, Yet lovely in thy youthful grace! The elder dames, thy haughty peers, And taunts of scorn they join thy name. For on thy cheeks the glow is spread Is bright as thine own sunny sky. Ay, let them rail-those haughty ones, Its life between thee and the foe. They know not, in their hate and pride, What generous men Spring, like thine oaks, by hill and glen; What cordial welcomes greet the guest And where the ocean border foams. There's freedom at thy gates and rest For the starved laborer toil and bread. Stops and calls back his baffled hounds. Oh, fair young mother! on thy brow Drop strength and riches at thy fect. William Cullen Bryant [1794-1878] HYMN OF THE WEST WORLD'S FAIR, ST. LOUIS, MO., 1904 O THOU, whose glorious orbs on high Fill with Thy might Illumine Thou each pathway here, To show the marvels God hath wrought! Since first Thy people's chief and seer Looked up with that prophetic thought, Bade Time unroll And empire unto Freedom gave Poured through the gateways of the North Ores that the wealth of Ophir shame, Lo, through what years the soil hath lain, The ripening boll, the myriad fleece! League after league across the land Thou, whose high archways shine most clear To breathe its quickening air are fain: And smiles the sun To see made one Their brood throughout Earth's greenest space, Land of the new and lordlier race! Edmund Clarence Stedman [1833-1908] CONCORD HYMN SUNG AT THE COMPLETION OF THE BATTLE MONUMENT, APRIL 19, 1836 By the rude bridge that arched the flood, . The foe long since in silence slept; Alike the conqueror silent sleeps; On this green bank, by this soft stream, Spirit, that made those heroes dare Ralph Waldo Emerson [1803-1882] BATTLE-HYMN OF THE REPUBLIC MINE eyes have seen the glory of the coming of the Lord; He is trampling out the vintage where the grapes of wrath are stored; He hath loosed the fateful lightning of His terrible swift sword; His truth is marching on. I have seen Him in the watch-fires of a hundred circling camps; They have builded Him an altar in the evening dews and damps; I can read his righteous sentence by the dim and flaring lamps; His day is marching on. I have read a fiery gospel, writ in burnished rows of steel: "As ye deal with my contemners, so with you my grace shall deal; Let the Hero, born of woman, crush the serpent with his heel, Since God is marching on." He has sounded forth the trumpet that shall never call re treat; He is sifting out the hearts of men before His judgment-seat: In the beauty of the lilies Christ was born across the sea, While God is marching on. Julia Ward Howe [1819-1910] THE EAGLE'S SONG THE lioness whelped, and the sturdy cub The lion-whelp sprang from the eyrie nest, Two were the sons that the country bore And now that the two are one again, |