I STAND upon the threshold stone Of mine ancestral hall; I hear my native river moan; I see the night o'er my old forests fall. I look round on the darkening vale That saw my childhood's plays; The low wind in its rising wail Hath a strange tone, a sound of other days. But I must rule my swelling breast: A sign is in the sky! Bright o'er yon gray rock's eagle-nest Shines forth a warning star -- it bids me fly. My father's sword is in my hand, His deep voice haunts mine ear; He tells me of the noble band Whose lives have left a brooding glory here. He bids their offspring guard from stain Their pure and lofty faith; And yield up all things, to maintain The cause for which they girt themselves to death. And I obey. I leave their towers Unto the stranger's tread, Unto the creeping grass and flowers, Unto the fading pictures of the dead. I leave their shields to slow decay, Their banners to the dust: I go, and only bear away Their old majestic name -- a solemn trust! I go up to the ancient hills, Where chains may never be, Where leap in joy the torrent-rills, Where man may worship God, alone and free. There shall an altar and a camp Impregnably arise; There shall be lit a quenchless lamp, To shine, unwavering, through the open skies. And song shall midst the rocks be heard, And fearless prayer ascend; While, thrilling to God's holy word, The mountain-pines in adoration bend. And there the burning heart no more Its deep thought shall suppress, But the long-buried truth shall pour Free currents thence, amidst the wilderness. Then fare thee well, my mother's bower! Farewell, my father's hearth! -- Perish my home! where lawless power Hath rent the tie of love to native earth. Perish! let deathlike silence fall Upon the lone abode; Spread fast, dark ivy! spread thy pall; -- I go up to the mountains with my God. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...SELLING HER ENGAGEMENT RING by KAREN SWENSON I LOVE ALL BEAUTEOUS THINGS by ROBERT SEYMOUR BRIDGES TROAS: ACT II. LATTER END OF THE CHORUS by LUCIUS ANNAEUS SENECA ALMS by EDNA ST. VINCENT MILLAY THE CRADLE SONG OF THE POOR by ADELAIDE ANNE PROCTER TO A LADY TO ANSWER DIRECTLY WITH YEA OR NAY by THOMAS WYATT |