  Our Country still is in the womb, dark Time. It shows life by its brisk and robust turns, Which thrill the Mother, Liberty, who yearns To see her man-child born. Oh, how sublime With genius, not of one, but every climb Where art forms beauty, or the spirit spurns The foul and spurious,—her desire, that burns Prenatally in him, to form him prime! Oh People, all—Italian, Spanish, French, Dutch, English, Irish, German, Jew, and Greek— What see you, as you climb the Future's Peak? Oh! no illusion. What looms there, shall wrench From life, all monsters out from Hell, to seek Dead consciences and plague earth with their stench. IIAscend, O Land of every Creed and Race! Not thy full image, in New England's brook, Nor in the South's lagoon; though there, a look Delights us with thy chubby, infant face. 'Tis seas of joy, that shorelessly replace The Ocean which, in time of old, forsook The prairies for the cloud, or spring in nook,— That show thee, Grown, through God's abundant grace. From East to West, how joy's high seas expand, Reflecting, not a foolish, mundane pride That, thinking it does all, sets God aside— But Virtue which, with heart and head and hand, Works out God's purpose, with dear Christ for guide, And holy spirits Light to understand! IIIAll Virtues from the longing of the soul; From wisdom, gained by sorrow through long ages; From inspiration of the bards, in rages That inter-marrying maniacs control A people's life, and drain its sea to shoal, And from the vision of sky-topping sages, Gasping for breath from rot in all its stages,— Aye, these and new-born Genius loom there Whole. Look, People! Little less than God's own size, Your virtues merge and, with speed God-ward, burn, An unconsuming sun, that at no turn In spiral flight, for still a grander rise, Lets night advance where human Rights still yearn, Except with great, new stars and dawning skys! |
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