Poetry Explorer- Classic Contemporary Poetry, THE ROCK OF LIBERTY; A PILGRIM ODE, 1620-1920: 2. STRUGGLE, by ABBIE FARWELL BROWN

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Classic and Contemporary Poetry

THE ROCK OF LIBERTY; A PILGRIM ODE, 1620-1920: 2. STRUGGLE, by             Poet's Biography
First Line: The lord is my strength; of whom shall I be afraid
Last Line: Of a greater hope than men have known!
Subject(s): Pilgrim Fathers; Religion; Theology


The Lord is my strength; of whom shall I be afraid?
He hath brought me forth into a place of Liberty.
Oh what great and sore troubles hast Thou showed me,
And yet dost Thou quicken me again,
Yea, and shalt bring me up again out of the deep.
Thou hast tried me as silver is tried.
The Lord will give strength to His people.
The Lord will bless His people with peace.


We who have challenged fate
To buy the boon of peace,
Shall we not watch and wait,
Nor from the vigil cease?
Pray God for strength and trust his word,
Guarding our treasure with a sword!

We who have burned the past
Upon an altar fire,
Will pay our lives at last
To win the soul's desire.
Give us our peace! Renew our faith,
O Lord, to seek it unto death!


Come, let us build a temple to God,
Here in the wilderness, made by our might,
Set in our midst, the center of life.
Smite the tall pines that fall with a roar!
Hew the great logs and heave them in place
Square is the meeting-house, simple and stern,
Barren of beauty, honestly builded,
A shield from the arrow that flieth by day,
A haven from storm and peril of night.
Slender the spire that points to the sky,
First one of many to blaze out a path
Through the wild jungle, lifting men's eyes
Out of the shadow into the light.
Old men and maidens, young men and children,
Enter His house with thanksgiving and praise!


Patter, patter, in and out,
Go the women's loyal feet.
Hither, thither, roundabout,
Late and early hear the beat;
To the crib, the well, the hay,
From the kitchen to the loom;
Treading out a people's way,
From the cradle to the tomb.

Flutter, flutter, to and fro,
Busy hands fly out and in.
Flaxen threads are white as snow, --
Rough the little hands that spin;
Drawing out the thread of life,
Working early, winding late;
Gentle mother, noble wife,
Knitting firm a nation's fate.


Lord of the harvest and the toil,
Prosper the laborer on thy soil.
Steady the shoulder to the plow,
And let there be no faltering now.
Our lot is in a goodly land;
Inspire the heart and steel the hand
To build a fabric grandly sure
In righteousness that shall endure!


Sing to the Lord! Here there shall be
No leading into captivity,
And no complaining on our shore.
But we will guard the lowly poor,
The little children and the weak,
And they shall find the prize they seek.

O Liberty! The corner-stone
Of a greater hope than men have known!

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