Found ye a nation to stand without halter, Free of the bridle, the saddle, the rein. Stride the wild ocean, hurdle the mountain, Follow the sun through the stretch of the plain. Plymouth to Florida, slant west to Oregon, Scan the Pacific from Rocky's gray dome, Compass and chart, where water squares water, Hail ye America, this be your home! Well have ye loved the soft slopes where the hillsides Lean down to gild the live valleys with grain; Loved the great mountains that sweep back to grandeur, Flanking their heights for a watch on the plain. High winds have tutored the pace of your turnstiles, Waters have tarried to bide at your mill, Ye have a heritage crested with glory, Hail ye the patriots' courage and skill! Time yields a breath, and emerald hillocks Mound the live footprints of dead pioneers, Note ye their laurels stepping the hillsides, Greening a trail through the nation's hard years. Circle ye now and sheaf ye the laurels, Bind the live harvest with talons of steel, There by the tractors men glean in the silence, Seeking a spur of @3old@1 faith and @3new@1 zeal. Prime ye a chorus and wake ye the silence, Brace ye the beat over wavering breath With hard repercussions of patriot drumming: "Hold to your freedom or court ye your death! What though the demagogue preens for adoption -- Ye are the brood of the spread-eagle's wing, Plumed by decree of democracy's charter, Each man a sovereign but no man a king!" Gather, ye statesmen, from Plymouth to Oregon, Spend ye no word with the politic knave! Seal ye the charge ye are called to deliver, Honor the birthright your forefathers gave: Laud ye your freedom! Flame ye your courage! Dike the wild oceans, gray-white with war-foam -- Bend to your chart, where water squares water, Hail ye America, this be your home! |