FORESEEN in the vision of sages,
Foretold when
martyrs bled,
She was born of the longing of ages,
By
the truth of the noble dead
And the faith of the living
fed!
No blood in her lightest veins
Frets at
remembered chains,
Nor shame of bondage has bowed her
head.
In her form and features still
The unblenching
Puritan will,
Cavalier honor, Huguenot grace,
The
Quaker truth and sweetness,
And the strength of the
danger-girdled race
Of Holland, blend in a proud
completeness.
From the homes of all, where her being
began,
She took what she gave to Man;
Justice, that
knew no station,
Belief, as soul decreed,
Free air for
aspiration,
Free force for independent deed!
She
takes, but to give again,
As the sea returns the rivers
in rain;
And gathers the chosen of her seed
From the
hunted of every crown and creed.
Her Germany dwells by a
gentler Rhine;
Her Ireland sees the old sunburst shine;
Her France pursues some dream divine;
Her Norway keeps
his mountain pine;
Her Italy waits by the western brine;
And, broad-based under all,
Is planted England's
oaken-hearted mood,
As rich in fortitude
As e'er went
worldward from the island-wall!
Fused in her candid
light,
To one strong race all races here unite;
Tongues melt in hers, hereditary foemen
Forget their
sword and slogan, kith and clan.
'T was glory, once, to
be a Roman:
She makes it glory, now, to be a man! |
