The dying roar of artillery. A nation, torn, in her agony; One nation, smiling in her agony. The long grey lines have all swung south, Worn, proud, unbroken. From river-mouth, From inlet, from roadstead, the boats go by. One flag flies in the freedman's sky. Blue lines passing, mute and worn have come Home to the peace of the north hills—home. The shipping crowds the lower bay. New duties call—the greater play Of Love's great heart of forgivingness; Wrongs that Right must needs redress; And civic growth and righteousness. How the spirit carries, how greatly go The earnest years, we and the Passaic know; Scanning the stars, blood of elder seers, O city of two hundred years! | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...SONNET: 109 by WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE THE THREE TROOPERS DURING THE PROTECTORATE by GEORGE WALTER THORNBURY PENTRIDGE BY THE RIVER by WILLIAM BARNES ISLE OF BEAUTY by THOMAS HAYNES BAYLY THE FASHIONS, 1806 by LEWIS BEACH ECHOES OF SPRING: 5 by MATHILDE BLIND |