Admire and hate thy blooming years. 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, Spring, like thine oaks, by hill and glen; What cordial welcomes greet the guest How faith is kept, and truth revered, 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 feet. Thine eye, with every coming hour, Would brand thy name with words of scorn, Upon their lips the taunt shall die. AMERICA Extract from The National Ode BAYARD TAYLOR FORESEEN in the vision of sages, Foretold when martyrs bled, She was born of the longing of ages, No blood in her lightest veins Nor shame of bondage has bowed her head. The unblenching Puritan will, And the strength of the danger-girdled race Justice, that knew no station, Free force for independent deed! From the hunted of every crown and creed. Is planted England's oaken-hearted mood, As e'er went worldward from the island-wall! To one strong race all races here unite: Tongues melt in hers, hereditary foemen Forget their sword and slogan, kith and clan; 'Twas glory, once, to be a Roman: She makes it glory, now, to be a man! I HEAR AMERICA SINGING WALT WHITMAN I HEAR America singing, the varied carols I hear, Those of mechanics, each one singing his as it should be blithe and strong, The carpenter singing his as he measures his plank or beam, The mason singing his as he makes ready for work, or leaves off work, The boatman singing what belongs to him in his boat, the deckhand singing on the steamboat deck, The shoemaker singing as he sits on his bench, the hatter singing as he stands, The wood-cutter's song, the ploughboy's on his way in the morning, or at noon intermission or at sundown, The delicious singing of the mother, or of the young wife at work, or of the girl sewing or washing, Each singing what belongs to him or her, and to none else, The day what belongs to the day at night the party of young fellows, robust, friendly, Singing with open mouths their strong melodious songs. OUR COUNTRY JULIA WARD HOWE On primal rocks she wrote her name, The Forest bowed his solemn crest, Till, fold by fold, the broidered Land O Exile of the wrath of Kings! First in the glories of thy front Let Justice with the faultless scales |