My cobblestones are red with England's blood, My parks are monuments of other days, My battle cry the cry that right is might, Humanity my God and mother love. I blush when Justice cowers in the dust, When once again we lead to Calvary The Nazarene enwrapt in scarlet cloak. I am the sister of the man oppressed, The sword 'that flashed at primal Eden's gate, -- "No man may enter save the pure in heart." I sit at Plato's feet, and glean the gold That drifts from such a rich eternal mind; Good England's culture is my fading past, Columbia the glory of my dreams. O sisters mine, go sound your drums of gold, Go build your monuments to Greed and Pelf, For I would rather cherish martyrs' blood Than all the wealth enshrined in Amsterdam, And I would rather boast the motherhood Of Attucks and of Shaw than rule the world. O God of Winthrop, here I spread Thy couch, For I have kept Thy faith despite the age. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...SPRING NOTES FROM ROBIN HILL by HAYDEN CARRUTH DOMESTIC SONG by DAVID IGNATOW NEW YEAR'S EVE by DAVID IGNATOW |