New Castle,
July 4, 1878or a hundred years the pulse of
Has throbbed for Liberty;
For a hundred years the grand old
Columbia has been free;
For a hundred years our country's love,
The Stars and Stripes, has waved above.
Away far out on the gulf of years—Misty and faint and
Through the fogs of wrong—a sail appears,
And the Mayflower heaves in sight,
And drifts again, with its little
Of a hundred souls, on Plymouth Rock.
Do you see them there—as long, long since—Through the lens of History;
Do you see them there as their chieftain
In the snow his bended knee,
And lifts his voice through the wintry
In thanks for a peaceful home at last?
Though the skies are dark and the coast is bleak,
And the storm is wild and fierce,
Its frozen flake on the upturned
Of the Pilgrim melts in tears,
And the dawn that springs from the darkness
Is the morning light of an answered prayer.
The morning light of the day of
That gladdens the aching eyes,
And gives to the soul that sweet
That the present verifies,—Nor a snow so deep, nor a wind so
To quench the flame of a freeman's will!
Days of toil when the bleeding
Of the pioneer grew numb,
When the untilled tracts of the barren
Where the weary ones had
Could offer nought from a fruitful
To stay the strength of the stranger's toil.
Days of pain, when the heart beat low,
And the empty hours went
Pitiless, with the wail of
And the moan of Hunger's cry—When the trembling hands upraised in
Had only the strength to hold them there.
Days when the voice of hope had fled—Days when the eyes grown
Were folded to, and the tears they
Were frost on a frozen cheek—When the storm bent down from the skies and gaveA shroud of snow for the Pilgrim's grave.
Days at last when the smiling
Glanced down from a summer sky,
And a music rang where the rivers run,
And the waves went laughing by;
And the rose peeped over the mossy
While the wild deer stood in the stream and drank.
And the birds sang out so loud and good,
In a symphony so
And pure and sweet that the woodman
With his ax upraised to hear,
And to shape the words of the tongue
Into a language all his own—1'Sing! every bird, to-day!
Sing for the sky so clear,
And the gracious breath of the
Shall waft our cares away.
Sing! sing! for the sunshine free;
Sing through the land from sea to sea;
Lift each voice in the highest
And sing for Liberty!'2'Sing for the arms that
Their fetters in the
And lift their hands in higher
Unto the one Great King;
Sing for the patriot heart and hand;
Sing for the country they have planned;
Sing that the world may
This is Freedom's land!'3'Sing in the tones of prayer,
Sing till the soaring
Shall float above the world's
In freedom everywhere!
Sing for the good that is to be,
Sing for the eyes that are to
The land where man at last is free,
O sing for
IA holy quiet reigned, save where the
Of labor sent a murmur through the land,
And happy voices in a
Taught every lisping breeze a melody.
A nest of cabins, where the smoke upcurledA breathing incense to the other world.
A land of languor from the sun of noon,
That fainted slowly to the pallid moon,
Till stars, thick-scattered in the
Of Heaven by the great Jehovah's hand,
Had blossomed into light to look
The dusky warrior with his arrow drawn,
As skulking from the covert of the
With serpent cunning and a fiend's delight,
With murderous spirit, and a yell of
The voice of Hell might tremble to translate:
When the fond mother's tender
Went quavering in shrieks all suddenly,
And baby-lips were dabbled with the
Of crimson at the bosom of the slain,
And peaceful homes and fortunes
In smoldering embers of the holocaust.
Yet on and on, through years of gloom and strife,
Our country struggled into stronger life;
Till colonies, like footprints in the sand,
Marked Freedom's pathway winding through the land—And not the footprints to be swept
Before the storm we hatched in Boston Bay,—But footprints where the path of war
That led to Bunker Hill and Lexington,—For he who "dared to lead where others
To follow" found the promise there
Of Liberty, in blood of Freedom's
Baptized to Father,
Son, and Holy Ghost!
Oh, there were times when every patriot
Was riotous with sentiments
In tones that swelled in volume till the
Of lusty war itself was well-nigh drowned.
Oh, those were times when happy eyes with
Brimmed o'er as all the misty doubts and
Were washed away, and Hope with gracious mien,
Reigned from her throne again a sovereign queen.
Until at last, upon a day like
When flowers were blushing at the summer's kiss,
And when the sky was cloudless as the
Of some sweet infant in its angel grace,—There came a sound of music, thrown
Upon the balmy air—a clanging
Reiterated from the brazen
Of Independence Bell:
A sound so sweet,
The clamoring throngs of people in the
Were stilled as at the solemn voice of prayer,
And heads were bowed, and lips were moving
That made no sound—until the spell had passed,
And then, as when all sudden comes the
Of some tornado, came the cheer on
Of every eager voice, while far and
The echoing bells upon the
Set glorious rumors floating, till the
Of every listening patriot tingled clear,
And thrilled with joy and jubilee to hear.
I'Stir all your echoes up,
O Independence Bell,
And pour from your inverted
The song we love so well.'Lift high your happy voice,
And swing your iron
Till syllables of praise
That never yet were sung.'Ring in the gleaming
Of Freedom—Toll the
Of Tyranny, and then ring on,
O Independence Bell.—'Ring on, and drown the moan,
Above the patriot slain,
Till sorrow's voice shall catch the
And join the glad refrain.'Ring out the wounds of
And rankle in the breast;
Your music like a
Will lull revenge to rest.'Ring out from
To Orient, and
From continent to
The mighty joy you feel.'Ring!
Independence Bell!
Ring on till worlds to
Shall listen to the tale you
Of love and
VO Liberty—the dearest wordA bleeding country ever heard,—We lay our hopes upon thy
And offer up our lives for thine.
You gave us many happy
Of peace and plenty ere the tearsA mourning country wept were
Above the graves of those who
Upon thy threshold.
And
When newer wars were bred, and
Went marching in the cannon's
And died for thee and loved the death,
While, high above them, gleaming bright,
The dear old flag remained in sight,
And lighted up their dying
With smiles that brightened paradise.
O Liberty, it is thy
To gladden us in every
Of gloom, and lead us by thy
As little children through a
Of bud and blossom; while the
Are filled with sunshine, and thy
Is warbled in the
Of joyous birds, and in the
Of waters, murmuring
The paths of peace, whose flowery
Has roses finding deeper
Of crimson, looking on
Reflected—leaning from the
Of cliff and crag and mossy
Of emerald splendor shadow-drowned.—We hail thy presence, as you
With bugle blast and rolling drum,
And booming guns and shouts of
Commingled in a
That thrills the worlds that throng to
The glory of thy pageantry.0 And with thy praise, we breathe a
That God who leaves you in our
May favor us from this day
With thy dear presence—till the
Of Heaven, breaking on thy face,
Lights up thy first abiding place.
