Puslapio vaizdai

New World and Old Glory


Sung in the Town Hall, Concord, July 4, 1857.

O tenderly the haughty day

Fills his blue urn with fire;

One morn is in the mighty heaven,
And one in our desire.

The cannon booms from town to town,
Our pulses beat not less,

The joy-bells chime their tidings down,
Which children's voices bless.

For He that flung the broad blue fold
O'er-mantling land and sea,
One third part of the sky unrolled
For the banner of the free.

The men are ripe of Saxon kind
To build an equal state,-
To take the statute from the mind
And make of duty fate.

United States! the ages plead,—

Present and Past in under-song,—
Go put your creed into your deed,
Nor speak with double tongue.

For sea and land don't understand,
Nor skies without a frown

See rights for which the one hand fights
By the other cloven down.

Be just at home; then write your scroll

Of honor o'er the sea,

And bid the broad Atlantic roll,

A ferry of the free.

And henceforth there shall be no chain,

Save underneath the sea

The wires shall murmur through the main
Sweet songs of liberty.

The conscious stars accord above,

The waters wild below,

And under, through the cable wove,
Her fiery errands go.

For He that worketh high and wise,
Nor pauses in His plan,
Will take the sun out of the skies,

Ere freedom out of man.


New World and Old Glory

Stanzas on Freedom

Is true Freedom but to break
Fetters for our own dear sake,
And, with leathern hearts, forget
That we owe mankind a debt?
No! true freedom is to share
All the chains our brothers wear,

New World and Old


And, with heart and hand, to be
Earnest to make others free!

They are slaves who fear to speak
For the fallen and the weak;

They are slaves who will not choose
Hatred, scoffing, and abuse,

Rather than in silence shrink

From the truth they needs must think;
They are slaves who dare not be
In the right with two or three.


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Abraham Lincoln

This man whose homely face you look upon,
Was one of nature's masterful, great men ;
Born with strong arms, that unfought battles


Direct of speech, and cunning with the pen. Chosen for large designs, he had the art

Of winning with his humor, and he went Straight to his mark, which was the human heart; Wise, too, for what he could not break he bent. Upon his back a more than Atlas-load,

The burden of the Commonwealth, was laid; He stooped, and rose up to it, though the road Shot suddenly downwards, not a whit dismayed.

Hold, warriors, councillors, kings! All now give New


To this dear benefactor of the race.


World and Old Glory

Lincoln the Great Commoner

When the Norn-Mother saw the Whirlwind Hour,
Greatening and darkening as it hurried on,
She bent the strenuous Heavens and came down,
To make a man to meet the mortal need.
She took the tried clay of the common road-
Clay warm yet with the genial heat of earth,
Dashed through it all a strain of prophecy;
Then mixed a laughter with the serious stuff.
It was a stuff to wear for centuries,

A man that matched the mountains and com-

The stars to look our way and honor us.

The color of the ground was in him, the red

The tang and odor of the primal things,
The rectitude and patience of the rocks;
The gladness of the wind that shakes the corn;
The courage of the bird that dares the sea;
The justice of the rain that loves all leaves;.
The pity of the snow that hides all scars;

New The loving kindness of the wayside wel!; World The tolerance and equity of light and Old


That gives as freely to the shrinking weed
As to the great oak flaring to the wind-
To the grave's low hill as to the Matterhorn
That shoulders out the sky.

And so he came,

From prairie cabin to the Capitol,
One fair ideal led our chieftain on,
Forevermore he burned to do his deed
With the fine stroke and gesture of a King.
He built the rail pile as he built the State,
Pouring his splendid strength through every


The conscience of him testing every stroke,
To make his deed the measure of a man.

So came the Captain with the mighty heart;
And when the step of earthquake shook the house,
Wrenching the rafters from their ancient hold,
He held the ridgepole up and spiked again
The rafters of the Home. He held his place—
Held the long purpose like a growing tree-
Held on through blame and faltered not at praise,
And when he fell in whirlwind, he went down
As when a kingly cedar green with boughs
Goes down with a great shout upon the hills.

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