VI SWEET LAND OF LIBERTY
Reading edition
AMERICA[11]
BY S. F. SMITH
My country, ’tis of Thee, Sweet Land of Liberty Of thee I sing; Land where my fathers died, Land of the pilgrims’ pride, From every mountain side Let Freedom ring. My native country, thee, Land of the noble free, Thy name I love; I love thy rocks and rills, Thy woods and templed hills, My heart with rapture thrills Like that above. Let music swell the breeze, And ring from all the trees Sweet Freedom’s song; Let mortal tongues awake; Let all that breathe partake; Let rocks their silence break, The sound prolong. Our fathers’ God to Thee, Author of Liberty, To thee we sing, Long may our land be bright With Freedom’s holy light, Protect us by thy might Great God, our King. Our glorious Land to-day, ’Neath Education’s sway, Soars upward still. Its halls of learning fair, Whose bounties all may share, Behold them everywhere On vale and hill! Thy safeguard, Liberty, The school shall ever be,— Our Nation’s pride! No tyrant hand shall smite, While with encircling might All here are taught the Right With Truth allied. Beneath Heaven’s gracious will The stars of progress still Our course do sway; In unity sublime To broader heights we climb, Triumphant over Time, God speeds our way! Grand birthright of our sires, Our altars and our fires Keep we still pure! Our starry flag unfurled, The hope of all the world, In Peace and Light impearled, God hold secure!
THE REPUBLIC
(From “The Building of the Ship.”)
BY HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW
Thou, too, sail on, O Ship of State! Sail on, O Union, strong and great! Humanity with all its fears, With all the hopes of future years, Is hanging breathless on thy fate! We know what Master laid thy keel, What Workmen wrought thy ribs of steel, Who made each mast, and sail, and rope, What anvils rang, what hammers beat, In what a forge and what a heat Were shaped the anchors of thy hope! Fear not each sudden sound and shock, ’Tis of the wave and not the rock; ’Tis but the flapping of the sail, And not a rent made by the gale! In spite of rock and tempest’s roar, In spite of false lights on the shore, Sail on, nor fear to breast the sea! Our hearts, our hopes, are all with thee, Our hearts, our hopes, our prayers, our tears, Our faith triumphant o’er our fears, Are all with thee,—are all with thee!
THE ANTIQUITY OF FREEDOM
BY WILLIAM CULLEN BRYANT
Here are old trees, tall oaks, and gnarled pines, That stream with gray-green mosses; here the ground Was never trenched by spade, and flowers spring up Unsown, and die ungathered. It is sweet To linger here, among the flitting birds And leaping squirrels, wandering brooks, and winds That shake the leaves, and scatter, as they pass, A fragrance from the cedars, thickly set With pale blue berries. In these peaceful shades— Peaceful, unpruned, immeasurably old— My thoughts go up the long dim path of years, Back to the earliest days of liberty. O Freedom! thou art not, as poets dream, A fair young girl, with light and delicate limbs, And wavy tresses gushing from the cap With which the Roman master crowned his slave When he took off the gyves. A bearded man, Armed to the teeth, art thou; one mailèd hand Grasps the broad shield, and one the sword; thy brow, Glorious in beauty though it be, is scarred With tokens of old wars; thy massive limbs Are strong with struggling. Power at thee has launched His bolts, and with his lightnings smitten thee; They could not quench the life thou hast from heaven; Merciless Power has dug thy dungeon deep, And his swart armorers, by a thousand fires, Have forged thy chain; yet, while he deems thee bound, The links are shivered, and the prison walls Fall outward; terribly thou springest forth, As springs the flame above a burning pile, And shoutest to the nations, who return Thy shoutings, while the pale oppressor flies. Thy birthright was not given by human hands: Thou wert twin-born with man. In pleasant fields, While yet our race was few, thou sat’st with him, To tend the quiet flock and watch the stars, And teach the reed to utter simple airs. Thou by his side, amid the tangled wood, Didst war upon the panther and the wolf, His only foes; and thou with him didst draw The earliest furrow on the mountain’s side, Soft with the deluge. Tyranny himself, Thy enemy, although of reverend look, Hoary with many years, and far obeyed, Is later born than thou; and as he meets The grave defiance of thine elder eye, The usurper trembles in his fastnesses. Thou shalt wax stronger with the lapse of years, But he shall fade into a feebler age— Feebler, yet subtler. He shall weave his snares, And spring them on thy careless steps, and clap His withered hands, and from their ambush call His hordes to fall upon thee. He shall send Quaint maskers, wearing fair and gallant forms To catch thy gaze, and uttering graceful words To charm they ear; while his sly imps, by stealth, Twine round thee threads of steel, light thread on thread, That grow to fetters; or bind down thy arms With chains concealed in chaplets. Oh! not yet Mayst thou unbrace thy corselet, nor lay by Thy sword; nor yet, O Freedom! close thy lids In slumber; for thine enemy never sleeps, And thou must watch and combat till the day Of the new earth and heaven.
AMERICA
BY WILLIAM CULLEN BRYANT
Oh, mother of a mighty race, Yet lovely in thy youthful grace! The elder dames, thy haughty peers, Admire and hate thy blooming years. With words of shame And taunts of scorn they join thy name. For on thy cheeks the glow is spread That tints thy morning hills with red; Thy step—the wild deer’s rustling feet Within thy woods are not more fleet; Thy hopeful eye Is bright as thine own sunny sky. Aye, let them rail—those haughty ones, While safe thou dwellest with thy sons. They do not know how loved thou art, How many a fond and fearless heart Would rise to throw Its life between thee and the foe. They know not, in their hate and pride, What virtues with thy children bide; How true, how good, thy graceful maids Make bright, like flowers, the valley shades; What generous men Spring, like thine oaks, by hill and glen;— What cordial welcomes greet the guest By thy lone rivers of the West; How faith is kept, and truth revered, And man is loved, and God is feared, In woodland homes, And where the ocean border foams. There’s freedom at thy gates and rest For Earth’s down-trodden and opprest, A shelter for the hunted head, For the starved laborer toil and bread. Power, at thy bounds, Stops and calls back his baffled hounds. Oh, fair young mother! on thy brow Shall sit a nobler grace than now. Deep in the brightness of the skies The thronging years in glory rise, And, as they fleet, Drop strength and riches at thy feet. Thine eye, with every coming hour, Shall brighten, and thy form shall tower; And when thy sisters, elder born, Would brand thy name with words of scorn, Before thine eye, Upon their lips the taunt shall die.
ODE
BY RALPH WALDO EMERSON
(Sung in the Town Hall, Concord, July 4, 1857.)
O tenderly the haughty day Fills his blue urn with fire; One morn is in the mighty heaven, And one in our desire. The cannon booms from town to town, Our pulses beat not less, The joy-bells chime their tidings down, Which children’s voices bless. For He that flung the broad blue fold O’er-mantling land and sea, One third part of the sky unrolled For the banner of the free. The men are ripe of Saxon kind To build an equal state,— To take the statute from the mind And make of duty fate. United States! the ages plead,— Present and Past in under-song,— Go put your creed into your deed, Nor speak with double tongue. For sea and land don’t understand Nor skies without a frown See rights for which the one hand fights By the other cloven down. Be just at home; then write your scroll Of honor o’er the sea, And bid the broad Atlantic roll A ferry of the free. And henceforth there shall be no chain, Save underneath the sea The wires shall murmur through the main Sweet songs of liberty. The conscious stars accord above, The waters wild below, And under, through the cable wove, Her fiery errands go.
AMERICA FIRST[12]
ANONYMOUS
This is the season when Young America celebrates the glorious deeds of the forefathers, when they cut the leading-strings that bound them to the Old World, and stepped forth with the independence of manhood.
It took Rome five hundred years, five centuries of war, intrigue and arrogance, to overspread Southern Europe. In a little more than one century America has grown to a magnitude in area and perhaps in population also, equal to that of Rome in its most magnificent days.
“Civis Romanus sum!” was the proudest boast that could fall from the lips of man at the beginning of the Christian era. Is there to-day an American who rates his citizenship in the Great Republic at a lower value than Roman freedom nineteen hundred years ago?
The day for “spread-eagle” brag is long past, but there is no reason why we should hesitate to say what not we alone but all the people of the world believe, that it is the destiny of this country to become the greatest, the strongest, the wealthiest, the most self-supporting of all the nations of the earth. It is already the greatest self-governing community the world has ever seen.
How can we make it greater? By standing together as Americans. We shall not magnify, but shall belittle ourselves, if we swagger before our neighbors—using bravado for the strong, and insolence in our treatment of the weak. But we should take American views instead of party views, when questions arise between this government and others.
The motto “America against the world” would be a contemptible motto. Yet is it not better to adopt even such a motto than to take the side of the world against America, or to be indifferent when the interests of one’s own country are assailed?
The Fourth of July is a good time for us all to resolve that we will be Americans at heart. Not that we will build up our own country on the ruins of others, but that when there is a clashing of interests those of our native land shall have our hearty support.
LIBERTY FOR ALL
BY WILLIAM LLOYD GARRISON
They tell me, Liberty! that in thy name I may not plead for all the human race; That some are born to bondage and disgrace, Some to a heritage of woe and shame, And some to power supreme, and glorious fame: With my whole soul I spurn the doctrine base, And, as an equal brotherhood, embrace All people, and for all fair freedom claim! Know this, O man! whate’er thy earthly fate— God never made a tyrant nor a slave: Woe, then, to those who dare to desecrate His glorious image!—for to all He gave Eternal rights, which none may violate; And, by a mighty hand, the oppressed He yet shall save!
HYMN
(For the Fourth of July, 1863.)
ANONYMOUS
Lord, the people of the land In Thy presence humbly stand; On this day, when Thou didst free Men of old from tyranny, We, their children, bow to Thee. Help us, Lord, our only trust! We are helpless, we are dust! All our homes are red with blood; Long our grief we have withstood; Every lintel, each door-post, Drips, at tidings from the host, With the blood of some one lost. Help us, Lord, our only trust! We are helpless, we are dust! Comfort, Lord, the grieving one Who bewails a stricken son! Comfort, Lord, the weeping wife, In her long, long widowed life, Brooding o’er the fatal strife, Help us, Lord, our only trust! We are helpless, we are dust! On our Nation’s day of birth, Bless Thy own long-favored earth! Urge the soldier with Thy will! Aid their leaders with Thy skill! Let them hear Thy trumpet thrill! Help us, Lord, our only trust! We are helpless, we are dust! Lord, we only fight for peace, Fight that freedom may increase. Give us back the peace of old, When the land with plenty rolled, And our banner awed the bold! Help us, Lord, our only trust! We are helpless, we are dust! Lest we pray in thoughtless guilt, Shape the future as Thou wilt! Purge our realm from hoary crime With Thy battles, dread, sublime, In Thy well-appointed time! Help us, Lord, our only trust! We are helpless, we are dust! With one heart the Nation’s cries From our choral lips arise: Thou didst point a noble way For our Fathers through the fray; Lead their children thus to-day! Help us, Lord, our only trust! We are helpless, we are dust! In His name, who bravely bore Cross and crown begemmed with gore, By His last immortal groan, Ere He mounted to His throne, Make our sacred cause Thy own! Help us, Lord, our only trust! We are helpless, we are dust!
THE DAWNING FUTURE
BY WILLIAM PRESTON JOHNSON, PRESIDENT OF TULANE UNIVERSITY, LA.
(Closing stanza of patriotic poem, “The Patriot South.”)
Thus, in the march of time, and long procession Of coming ages, year on year, We mark the great Republic’s proud career, Like Philip’s phalanx, manifold, With bucklers linked, one front against aggression, Till Freedom’s perfect vision is unrolled, And man, with eye unsealed, its glories shall behold.
LIBERTY
The people never give up their liberties but under some delusion.
Burke—Speech at a County Meeting at Bucks, 1784.
Liberty’s in every blow! Let us do or die.
Burns—Bannockburn.
What is liberty without wisdom and without virtue? It is the greatest of all possible evils; for it is folly, vice, and madness, without tuition or restraint.
Burke—Reflections on the Revolution in France.
The poorest man may in his cottage bid defiance to all the force of the crown.
Earl of Chatham—Speech on the Excise Bill.
’Tis liberty alone that gives the flower Of fleeting life its luster and perfume; And we are weeds without it.
Cowper—The Task. Bk. V. Line 446.
The love of liberty with life is given, And life itself the inferior gift of heaven.
Dryden—Palamon and Arcite. Bk. II. Line 291.
This is true liberty when freeborn men, Having to advise the public, may speak free: Which he who can and will deserves high praise: Who neither can nor will may hold his peace. What can be juster in a state than this?
Milton—Trans. Horace. Ep. i. 16, 40.
Give me again my hollow tree A crust of bread, and liberty!
Pope—Imitations of Horace. Bk. II. Satire VI. Line 220.
O Liberty! Liberty! how many crimes are committed in thy name!
Madame Roland—Macaulay. Mirabeau.
FREEDOM
Hereditary bondsmen! Know ye not Who would be free themselves must strike the blow?
Byron—Childe Harold. Canto II. St. 67.
Freedom has a thousand charms to show, That slaves howe’er contented, never know.
Cowper—Table Talk. Line 260.
He is the freeman, whom the truth makes free, And all are slaves besides.
Cowper—The Task. Bk. V. Line 733.
When Freedom from her mountain height Unfurled her standard to the air, She tore the azure robe of night, And set the stars of glory there.
Drake—The American Flag.
My angel—his name is Freedom,— Choose him to be your king; He shall cut pathways east and west, And fend you with his wing.
Emerson—Boston Hymn.
Yes, to this thought I hold with firm persistence; The last result of wisdom stamps it true; He only earns his freedom and existence Who daily conquers them anew.
Goethe—Faust.
Know ye why the Cypress tree as Freedom’s tree is known? Know ye why the Lily fair as Freedom’s flower is shown? Hundred arms the Cypress has, yet never plunder seeks; With ten well-developed tongues the Lily never speaks!
Omar Khayyam—Frederich Bodenstedt, Translator.
What is freedom? Rightly understood, A universal license to be good.
Hartley Coleridge.
A RHAPSODY
BY CASSIUS MARCELLUS CLAY
I may be an enthusiast; but I cannot but give utterance to the conceptions of my own mind. When I look upon the special developments of European civilization; when I contemplate the growing freedom of the cities, and the middle class which has sprung up between the pretenders to divine rule on the one hand, and the abject serf on the other; when I consider the Reformation, and the invention of the press, and see, on the southern shore of the continent, an humble individual, amidst untold difficulties and repeated defeats, pursuing the mysterious suggestions which the mighty deep poured unceasingly upon his troubled spirit, till at last, with great and irrepressible energy of soul, he discovered that there lay in the far western ocean a continent open for the infusion of those elementary principles of liberty which were dwarfed in European soil,—I conceive that the hand of destiny was there!
When I see the immigration of the Pilgrims from the chalky shores of England,—in the night fleeing from their native home,—so dramatically and ably pictured by Mr. Webster in his celebrated oration,—when father, mother, brother, wife, sister, lover, were all lost by those melancholy wanderers—“stifling,” in the language of one who is immortal in the conception, “the mighty hunger of the heart,” and landing, amidst cold and poverty and death, upon the rude rocks of Plymouth,—I venture to think the will of Deity was there!
When I have remembered the Revolution of ’76,—the Seven Years’ War—three millions of men in arms against the most powerful nation in history, and vindicating their independence,—I have thought that their sufferings and death were not in vain! When I have seen the forsaken hearthstone,—looked upon the battle-field, upon the dying and the dead,—heard the agonizing cry, “Water, for the sake of God! water;” seeing the dissolution of being—pale lips pressing in death the yet loved images of wife, sister, lover,—I have not deemed—I will not deem all these things in vain! I cannot regard this great continent, reaching from the Atlantic to the far Pacific, and from the St. John’s to the Rio del Norte, as the destined home of a barbarian people of third-rate civilization.
Like the Roman who looked back upon the glory of his ancestors, in woe, exclaiming,
“Great Scipio’s ghost complains that we are slow, And Pompey’s shade walks unavenged among us,”
the great dead hover around me:—Lawrence, “Don’t give up the ship.”—Henry, “Give me liberty or give me death!”—Adams, “Survive or perish, I am for the Declaration.”—Allan, “In the name of the living God, I come!”
Come then, Thou Eternal, who dwellest not in temples made with hands, but who, in the city’s crowd or by the far forest stream, revealest Thyself to the earnest seeker after the true and right, inspire my heart; give me undying courage to pursue the promptings of my spirit; and whether I shall be called in the shades of life to look upon as sweet and kind and lovely faces as now, or shut in by sorrow and night, horrid visions shall gloom upon me in my dying hour, O my country, mayest thou yet be free!
COLUMBIA
BY FREDERICK LAWRENCE KNOWLES
Mated to the Millennium,—Time’s last heir And proudest daughter, conquerless as he; Girdled with lakes like jewels princely fair, With strong feet planted in the Mexic sea! Where Law is liberty, where Love is power, And the twain one, there Treason cannot dwell; A fangless asp, it coiled one impotent hour, But at thy white glance backward writhed to hell. Leave dotard empires flames of drunken war, Be thine chaste hours of labor and increase, Vineyards and harvests yielding guiltless store, Toil’s bloodless battles on the plains of peace! Yet when slain Weakness, dying at thy door, Summoning thy right arm’s vengeance, clasps thy feet,— Thy sword that drinks her murderer’s blood is pure As laughing sickles in the saffron wheat. Clearing a crimson path where Peace may tread More safely; thou dost play thy patient part, Love’s pledged ally,—yea, though thy blade be red; Thrusting War’s weapons thro’ his own false heart. O goddess, arctic-crowned and tropic-shod And belted with great waters, hear our cry,— More honest never reached the ear of God,— We’ll serve thee, laud thee, love thee, till we die!
A RENAISSANCE OF PATRIOTISM[13]
BY GEORGE J. MANSON
A RENAISSANCE
Within the past few years there has been what ex-President Harrison once happily termed “a renaissance of patriotism.” It started with the centennial anniversaries of 1776, which had the effect of carrying the memories of the people back to the period of the Nation’s birth, and subsequently resulted in the formation of several societies which will be the means of fostering the patriotic spirit and love of country, and recall remembrances of our Revolutionary struggle. The organizers of these societies found that there was a growing lack of what may be called national patriotism—the patriotism that grows out of a lively recollection of the early making of the country through battle, toil, and hardship of the fathers. This lukewarm spirit was not charged to the flood of immigration, or to the lapse of time, but was principally due to neglect on the part of the descendants of Revolutionary heroes to perform their duty of keeping before the public mind the memory of the services of their ancestors, the times in which they lived and the principles for which they contended.
THE SONS OF THE REVOLUTION
One of the first of these societies to be started was the “Sons of the Revolution.” This was organized February 22, 1876, reorganized December 4, 1883, and incorporated May 3, 1884. The aim of this society is to perpetuate the memory of the men who, in military, naval or civil service, by their acts or counsel, achieved American independence. The members promote and assist in the proper celebration of the anniversaries of Washington’s Birthday, the battles of Lexington and Bunker Hill, the Fourth of July, the capitulation of Saratoga and Yorktown, and the formal evacuation of New York by the British army, December 3, 1783, as a relinquishment of territorial sovereignty, and other prominent events relating to or connected with the War of the Revolution.
The roll-book of the members is something more than a mere list of names. Before each name is the year, showing when the member was admitted into the society, and there is also given in a paragraph his genealogical history so far as it relates to his ancestors who were in any way connected with the Revolutionary struggle. There is a general, or national society, divided into state societies which regulate their own affairs. Under the rules of the New York State society, ten or more members can organize within any county outside of the county of New York, such a body being called a local chapter. The total membership is now about six thousand. When membership is asked on the ground of an ancestor having been a “sailor” or “marine,” it must be shown that such service was other than shore duty and regularly performed in the Continental navy, or the navy of one of the original thirteen states, or on an armed vessel other than a merchant ship. When the ancestor has been an “official” his service must have been sufficiently important in character to have rendered him specially liable to arrest and imprisonment, if captured by the enemy, as well as liable to conviction of treason against the Government of Great Britain.
A few years ago the society stimulated interest in its work by offering two prizes to the cadets of the United States Naval Academy, at Annapolis, Md.,—a gold medal and a silver medal—for the best original essays upon the subject, “The Navy of the Revolution.” A singular and patriotic feature of these essays was that they were not to contain less than 1,776 words. A gold medal is likewise annually awarded by the New York society to a student in the College of the City of New York, for the best essay on a patriotic subject, and gold, silver, and bronze medals to the scholars of the high schools throughout the State for like essays. Similar prizes are awarded by the societies in other states.
Congress has also been urged, by the Sons of the Revolution as a body, to pass a bill which has already been introduced in that body, making an appropriation of a sum of money to erect a monument to John Paul Jones. It has also memorialized Congress to enact such a law as will secure the publication of all the archives of the United States Government relating to the War of the Revolution, in a manner similar to the publication of the records of the War of the Rebellion.
The seal of the society is an interesting study, suggesting as it does, in small compass, the spirit of patriotism the society desires to cultivate. The seal consists of the figure of a minute-man, in Continental uniform, standing on a ladder leading to a belfry. In his right hand he holds a musket and an olive branch, while his left hand grasps a bell-rope. Above is seen the cracked Liberty bell, from which issues a ribbon bearing the motto of the society: Exegi monumentum aere perennius. Many members of this society did gallant service in the war with Spain.
SONS OF THE AMERICAN REVOLUTION
The second important patriotic society is the “Sons of the American Revolution,” a name very similar to that of the organization just mentioned. The first branch of this society was formed in California in 1876 by a body of descendants of officers, soldiers, and seamen of the Revolution gathered in San Francisco for the purpose of celebrating the one hundredth anniversary of the Declaration of Independence. Similar societies were therefore organized in other states and, on April 30, 1889, these societies with two or three exceptions celebrated the centennial inauguration of Washington as first President of the United States. This meeting was held in Fraunce’s Tavern, in New York City, in the identical long room (now marked with a commemorative tablet) in which Washington bade farewell to his officers, December 3, 1783. The national organization was formed on the occasion of this meeting.
This society exists in about thirty states, and numbers about five thousand members. A singular and interesting feature in connection with this and kindred organizations is that their existence has led to and greatly stimulated genealogical research, a species of investigation to which Americans, as a rule, have given but little attention. Persons who have become interested in these societies, it has been found, have rescued unrecorded facts from the aged members of their families who were destined soon to pass away, information which could have been obtained in no other way and which would have been lost forever in a few years.
The “Sons of the American Revolution” prides itself on being a practical and not merely a sentimental and ornamental organization. It has been particularly active in saving throughout the country valuable historical landmarks, such as the headquarters of Jonathan Trumbull, in Connecticut, which has been obtained and is now used for a museum. It is marking historical spots and, directly and indirectly, securing the erection of memorials of the Revolutionary heroes, such as the Bennington Monument, near that famous battle-field, the statue of Gen. John Stark, in New Hampshire, and a monument to be erected in Baltimore to Maryland’s heroes of the Revolution. It has obtained from Congress a law providing for the collection and indexing of the records of service of the Revolution. It has stimulated the general observance of national patriotic holidays, and was influential in setting apart June 14th as “Flag Day” in commemoration of the adoption of the Stars and Stripes as the national standard.
THE SOCIETY OF COLONIAL WARS
“The Society of Colonial Wars,” originated in New York, and was instituted August 18, 1892, and incorporated October 18, 1892. In May, 1893, the New York society with the societies in the states of Pennsylvania, Maryland, Massachusetts, Connecticut, and the District of Columbia organized the general society, these states, having been previously chartered by the society in the State of New York. The objects of the organizations are similar to those of the previously named societies, from which they differ only in minor details. The present membership is approximately 3,000. On June 14th of this year (1898) this society joined with the Sons of the Revolution in appropriate ceremonies attending the unveiling of commemorative tablets at Fort Ticonderoga, intended to perpetuate the memories of the capture of the fort by Colonel Ethan Allen and his gallant band, the Colonial battles fought in the vicinity of Fort Ticonderoga, etc.
THE MILITARY ORDER OF FOREIGN WARS
“The Military Order of Foreign Wars” is, as its name implies, a military organization with patriotic objects, having for its scope the period of American history since national independence. The principal feature of the order is the perpetuating of the names, as well as the services, of commissioned officers who served in either the War of the Revolution, the War with Tripoli, the War of 1812, the Mexican War, or the War with Spain. Veteran Companionship is conferred upon such officers, and Hereditary Companionship upon their direct lineal descendants in the male line. The present membership is 1,400, which is rapidly growing. Other societies that merit more extended notice but which can here only be named are the “Order of Cincinnati,” the “Society of the War of 1812,” the “Aztec Club,” the “Loyal Legion,” the “Grand Army of the Republic,” the “Flag Association,” “Colonial Order of the Acorn,” “Order of Washington,” the “Pilgrim Society,” and some others.
THE DAUGHTERS OF THE REVOLUTION
It is quite natural that women, whose patriotic services during the late Civil War have often been the subject of grateful eulogy, should become interested in this new movement. There are several patriotic societies, composed exclusively of women, the objects of which are practically the same as the organizations which have just been mentioned. The society known as the “Daughters of the Revolution” was organized by Mrs. Flora Adams Darling, September 9, 1891. In October, 1890, was organized the more important society known as the “Daughters of the American Revolution,” which now has a membership of about 3,500. This society has state chapters existing in most of the states. To become a member of this society a woman must be not less than eighteen years of age, and be the descendant of an ancestor who loyally rendered material aid as a soldier, sailor or civil officer to the cause of independence. The Daughters of the American Revolution have presented to the City of Paris an equestrian statue of Lafayette designed and executed by Daniel C. French. It was intended to be a return of the compliment to the American people conveyed by the French Government when it presented to the United States the statue of Washington which is now at the National Capital. The unveiling took place with imposing ceremonies on July 3rd.
THE COLONIAL DAMES OF AMERICA
The “Colonial Dames of America,” an organization incorporated in 1893, requires of a member that she shall be descended in her own right from some ancestor of worthy life who came to reside in the American colony prior to 1750. This ancestor, or some one of his descendants, shall be a lineal ascendant of the applicant, and shall have rendered efficient service to his country during the colonial period either in the founding of the commonwealth, or of an institution which has survived and developed into importance, or who shall have held an important position in the Colonial Government and by distinguished services shall have contributed to the founding of the Nation. Services rendered after 1783 are not recognized.
UNITED STATES DAUGHTERS, 1776-1812
Still another woman’s patriotic organization is known as the “United States Daughters, 1776-1812.” This society was founded by Mrs. Flora Adams Darling, and incorporated in 1892. Ladies to be eligible must be lineal descendants of an ancestor who assisted in the wars of 1776-1812, either as a military or naval officer, soldier, sailor, or in any way gave aid to the cause, tho’ the society reserves to itself the privilege of rejecting any nomination that may not be acceptable to it.
Another patriotic woman’s organization tho’ not of recent date, which has for years rendered important service, is the “Mount Vernon Ladies’ Association,” of Washington, D. C. This association has under its care and direction the Washington estate at Mount Vernon, Va. In 1895 a volume entitled “Ancestry” was published by Bailey, Banks and Biddle (Philadelphia) in connection with their Department of Heraldry that contained a complete list of the various patriotic societies, then forty-seven in number. Since the publication of this volume many new societies have sprung up.
CENTENNIAL POEMS
CENTENNIAL HYMN[14]
BY JOHN GREENLEAF WHITTIER
Sung at the Opening of the World’s Fair at Philadelphia, in 1876.
Our fathers’ God, from out whose hand The centuries fall like grains of sand, We meet to-day, united, free, And loyal to our land and Thee, To thank Thee for the era done, And trust Thee for the opening one. Here, where of old, by Thy design, The fathers spake that word of Thine Whose echo is the glad refrain Of rended bolt and falling chain,— To grace our festal time, from all The zones of earth, our guests we call. Be with us while the New World greets The Old World, thronging all our streets, Unveiling all the triumphs won By art or toil, beneath the sun, And unto common good ordain This rivalship of hand and brain. Thou, who hast here, in Concord, furled The war-flags of a gathered world,— Beneath our Western skies fulfill The Orient’s mission of good will, And, freighted with Love’s Golden Fleece, Send back the Argonauts of Peace. For Art and Labor, met in truce, For Beauty made the bride of Use, We thank Thee; while, withal, we crave The austere virtues, strong to save,— The Honor, proof to place or gold, The Manhood, never bought nor sold. Oh, make Thou us, through centuries long, In Peace secure, in justice strong; Around our gift of Freedom draw The safeguards of Thy righteous law; And, cast in some diviner mold, Let the new cycle shame the old.
WELCOME TO THE NATION[15]
(Centennial Hymn sung on Independence Day, 1876.)
BY OLIVER WENDELL HOLMES
Bright on the banners of lily and rose, Lo, the last sun of our country sets! Wreathe the bright cannon that scowled on our foes, All but her friendships the Nation forgets, All but her friends, and their welcome, forgets. These are around her: but where are her foes? Lo, while the sun of her century sets, Peace, with her garlands of lily and rose! Welcome! a shout like the war-trumpet’s swell Wakes the wild echoes that slumber around! Welcome! it quivers from Liberty’s bell; Welcome! the walls of her temple resound! Hark! the gray walls of her temple resound! Fade the far voices o’er hillside and dell; Welcome! still whisper the echoes around! Welcome! still trembles on Liberty’s bell! Thrones of the continents! isles of the sea! Yours are the garlands of peace we entwine; Welcome once more to the land of the free, Shadowed alike by the palm and the pine; Softly they murmur, the palm and the pine, “Hushed is our strife, in the land of the free;” Over your children their branches entwine, Thrones of the continents! isles of the sea!
LIBERTY’S LATEST DAUGHTER
BY BAYARD TAYLOR
(Third Canto.)
Foreseen in the vision of sages, Foretold when martyrs bled, She was born of the longing of ages, By the truth of the noble dead, And the faith of the living, fed! No blood in her lightest veins Frets at remembered chains, Nor shame of bondage has bowed her head In her form and features still, The unblenching Puritan will, Cavalier honor, Huguenot grace, The Quaker truth and sweetness, And the strength of the danger-girdled race Of Holland, blend in a proud completeness. From the homes of all, where her being began, She took what she gave to man: Justice that knew no station, Belief as soul decreed, Free air for aspiration, Free force for independent deed. She takes, but to give again, As the sea returns the rivers in rain; And gathered the chosen of her seed From the hunted of every crown and creed. Her Germany dwells by a gentler Rhine; Her Ireland sees the old sunburst shine; Her France pursues some dream divine; Her Norway keeps his mountain-pine; Her Italy waits by the western brine; And, broad-based under all Is planted England’s oaken-hearted mood, As rich in fortitude As e’er went world-ward from the island wall. Fused in her candid light, To one strong race all races here united; Tongues melt in hers; hereditary foemen Forget their sword and slogan, kith and clan; ’Twas glory, once, to be a Roman; She makes it glory, now, to be a man.
“SCUM O’ THE EARTH”[16]
BY ROBERT HAVEN SCHAUFFLER
I At the gate of the West I stand, On the isle where the nations throng. We call them “scum o’ the earth”; Stay, are we doing you wrong, Young fellow from Socrates’ land?— You, like a Hermes so lissome and strong Fresh from the master Praxiteles’ hand? So you’re of Spartan birth? Descended, perhaps, from one of the band— Deathless in story and song— Who combed their long hair at Thermopylæ’s pass?... Ah, I forget the straits, alas! More tragic than theirs, more compassion-worth, That have doomed you to march in our “immigrant class” Where you’re nothing but “scum o’ the earth.” II You Pole with the child on your knee, What dower bring you to the land of the free? Hark! does she croon That sad little tune That Chopin once found on his Polish lea And mounted in gold for you and for me? Now a ragged young fiddler answers In wild Czech melody That Dvořak took whole from the dancers. And the heavy faces bloom In the wonderful Slavik way; The little, dull eyes, the brows a-gloom, Suddenly dawn like the day. While, watching these folk and their mystery, I forget that they’re nothing worth; That Bohemians, Slovaks, Croatians, And men of all Slavik nations Are “polacks”—and “scum o’ the earth.” III Genoese boy of the level brow, Lad of the lustrous, dreamy eyes Astare at Manhattan’s pinnacles now In the first, sweet shock of a hushed surprise; Within your far-rapt seer’s eyes I catch the glow of the wild surmise That played on the Santa Maria’s prow In that still gray dawn, Four centuries gone, When a world from the wave began to rise. Oh, it’s hard to foretell what high emprise Is the goal that gleams When Italy’s dreams Spread wing and sweep into the skies. Cæsar dreamed him a world ruled well; Dante dreamed Heaven out of Hell; Angelo brought us there to dwell; And you, are you of a different birth?— You’re only a “dago,”—and “scum o’ the earth”! IV Stay, are we doing you wrong Calling you “scum o’ the earth,” Man of the sorrow-bowed head, Of the features tender yet strong,— Man of the eyes full of wisdom and mystery Mingled with patience and dread? Have I not known you in history, Sorrow-bowed head? Were you the poet-king, worth Treasures of Ophir unpriced? Were you the prophet, perchance, whose art Foretold how the rabble would mock That shepherd of spirits, erelong, Who should carry the lambs on his heart And tenderly feed his flock? Man—lift that sorrow-bowed head. Lo! ’tis the face of the Christ! The vision dies at its birth. You’re merely a butt for our mirth. You’re a “sheeny”—and therefore despised And rejected as “scum o’ the earth.” V Countrymen, bend and invoke Mercy for us blasphemers, For that we spat on these marvelous folk, Nations of darers and dreamers, Scions of singers and seers, Our peers, and more than our peers. “Rabble and refuse,” we name them And “scum o’ the earth,” to shame them. Mercy for us of the few, young years, Of the culture so callow and crude, Of the hands so grasping and rude, The lips so ready for sneers At the sons of our ancient more-than-peers. Mercy for us who dare despise Men in whose loins our Homer lies; Mothers of men who shall bring to us The glory of Titian, the grandeur of Huss; Children in whose frail arms shall rest Prophets and singers and saints of the West. Newcomers all from the eastern seas, Help us incarnate dreams like these. Forget, and forgive, that we did you wrong. Help us to father a nation, strong In the comradeship of an equal birth, In the wealth of the richest bloods of earth.
LIBERTY AND UNION ONE AND INSEPARABLE
BY DANIEL WEBSTER
I profess, sir, in my career hitherto, to have kept steadily in view the prosperity and honor of the whole country, and the preservation of our Federal Union. It is to that Union that we owe our safety at home, and our consideration and dignity abroad. It is to that Union that we are chiefly indebted for whatever makes us most proud of our country. That Union we reached only by the discipline of our virtues, in the severe school of adversity. It had its origin in the necessities of disordered finance, prostrate commerce, and ruined credit. Under its benign influences these great interests immediately awoke, as from the dead, and sprang forth with newness of life. Every year of its duration has teemed with fresh proofs of its utility and its blessings; and, although our territory has stretched out wider and wider, and our population spread farther and farther, they have not outrun its protection or its benefits. It has been to us all a copious fountain of national, social, and personal happiness. I have not allowed myself, sir, to look beyond the Union, to see what might lie hidden in the dark recess behind. I have not coolly weighed the chances of preserving liberty, when the bonds that unite us together shall be broken asunder. I have not accustomed myself to hang over the precipice of disunion, to see whether, with my short sight, I can fathom the depth of the abyss below; nor could I regard him as a safe counselor in the affairs of this government, whose thought should be mainly bent on considering, not how the Union may be best preserved, but how tolerable might be the condition of the people when it should be broken up and destroyed.
While the Union lasts, we have high, exciting, gratifying prospects spread out before us, for us and our children. Beyond that I seek not to penetrate the veil. God grant that in my day, at least, that curtain may not rise! God grant that on my vision never may be opened what lies behind! When my eyes shall be turned to behold, for the last time, the sun in heaven, may I not see him shining on the broken and dishonored fragments of a once glorious Union; on States dissevered, discordant, belligerent; on a land rent with civil feuds, or drenched, it may be, in fraternal blood!
Let their last feeble and lingering glance rather behold the gorgeous ensign of the republic, now known and honored throughout the earth, still full high advanced, its arms and trophies streaming in their original luster, not a stripe erased or polluted, nor a single star obscured; bearing for its motto no such miserable interrogatory as, What is all this worth? nor those other words of delusion and folly,—Liberty first and Union afterwards; but everywhere, spread all over in characters of living light, blazing on all its ample folds as they float over the sea and over the land, and in every wind under the whole heavens, that other sentiment, dear to every true American heart,—Liberty and Union, now and forever, one and inseparable!
ADDRESS TO LIBERTY
BY WILLIAM COWPER
Oh, could I worship aught beneath the skies That earth hath seen, or fancy could devise, Thine altar, sacred Liberty, should stand, Built by no mercenary, vulgar hand, With fragrant turf, and flowers as wild and fair As ever dressed a bank, or scented summer air. Duly, as ever on the mountain’s height The peep of morning shed a dawning light; Again, when evening in her sober vest Drew the gray curtain of the fading west; My soul should yield thee willing thanks and praise For the chief blessings of my fairest days: But that were sacrilege: praise is not thine, But His, who gave thee, and preserves thee mine; Else I would say,—and, as I spake, bid fly A captive bird into the boundless sky,— This rising realm adores thee: thou art come From Sparta hither, and art here at home; We feel thy force still active; at this hour Enjoys immunity from priestly power; While conscience, happier than in ancient years, Owns no superior but the God she fears. Propitious Spirit! yet expunge a wrong Thy rights have suffered, and our land, too long; Teach mercy to ten thousand hearts, that share The fears and hopes of a commercial care; Prisons expect the wicked, and were built To bind the lawless, and to punish guilt; But shipwreck, earthquake, battle, fire, and flood Are mighty mischiefs, not to be withstood: And honest merit stands on slippery ground Where covert guile and artifice abound. Let just restraint, for public peace designed, Chain up the wolves and tigers of mankind,— The foe of virtue has no claim to thee,— But let insolvent innocence go free.
THE TORCH OF LIBERTY
BY THOMAS MOORE
I saw it all in Fancy’s glass— Herself, the fair, the wild magician, Who bade this splendid day-dream pass, And named each gilded apparition. ’Twas like a torch-race,—such as they Of Greece performed, in ages gone, When the fleet youths, in long array, Passed the bright torch triumphant on. I saw the expectant nations stand To catch the coming flame in turn; I saw, from ready hand to hand, The clear, though struggling, glory burn. And oh, their joy, as it came near, ’Twas, in itself, a joy to see; While Fancy whispered in my ear, “That torch they pass is Liberty!” And each, as she received the flame, Lighted her altar with its ray; Then, smiling, to the next who came, Speeded it on its sparkling way. From Albion first, whose ancient shrine Was furnished with the flame already, Columbia caught the boon divine, And lit a flame, like Albion’s, steady. Shine, shine forever, glorious flame, Divinest gift of gods to men! From Greece thy earliest splendor came, To Greece thy ray returns again. Take, Freedom, take thy radiant round; When dimmed, revive; when lost, return; Till not a shrine through earth be found On which thy glories shall not burn!
HOROLOGE OF LIBERTY
ANONYMOUS
The world heard: the battle of Lexington—one; the Declaration of Independence—two; the surrender of Burgoyne—three; the siege of Yorktown—four; the treaty of Paris—five; the inauguration of Washington—six; and then it was the sunrise of a new day, of which we have seen yet only the glorious forenoon.
THE AMERICAN REPUBLIC
BY GEORGE BANCROFT
In the fullness of time, a Republic rose up in the wilderness of America. Thousands of years had passed away before this child of the ages could be born. From whatever there was of good in the systems of former centuries she drew her nourishment; the wrecks of the past were her warnings. With the deepest sentiment of faith fixed in her inmost nature, she disenthralled religion from bondage to temporal power, that her worship might be worship only in spirit and in truth.
The wisdom which had passed from India through Greece, with what Greece had added of her own; the jurisprudence of Rome; the mediæval municipalities; the Teutonic method of representation, the political experience of England, the benignant wisdom of the expositors of the law of nature and of nations in France and Holland, all shed on her their selectest influence. She washed the gold of political wisdom from the sands wherever it was found; she cleft it from the rocks; she gleaned it among ruins. Out of all the discoveries of statesmen and sages, out of all the experience of past human life, she compiled a perennial political philosophy, the primordial principles of national ethics.
The wise men of Europe sought the best government in a mixture of monarchy, aristocracy, and democracy; and America went behind these names to extract from them the vital elements of social forms, and blend them harmoniously in the free Commonwealth, which comes nearest to the illustration of the natural equality of all men. She entrusted the guardianship of established rights to law; the movements of reform to the spirit of the people, and drew her force from the happy reconciliation of both.
A NEW NATIONAL HYMN
BY FRANCIS MARION CRAWFORD
Hail, Freedom! thy bright crest And gleaming shield, thrice blest, Mirror the glories of a world thine own. Hail, heaven-born Peace! our sight, Led by thy gentle light, Shows us the paths with deathless flowers strewn. Peace, daughter of a strife sublime, Abide with us till strife be lost in endless time. Her one hand seals with gold The portals of night’s fold, Her other the broad gates of dawn unbars; O’er silent wastes of snows, Crowning her lofty brows, Gleams high her diadem of northern stars; While, clothed in garlands of warm flowers, Round Freedom’s feet the South her wealth of beauty showers. Sweet is the toil of peace, Sweet is the year’s increase, To loyal men who live by Freedom’s laws; And in war’s fierce alarms God gives stout hearts and arms To freemen sworn to save a rightful cause. Fear none, trust God, maintain the right, And triumph in unbroken Union’s might. Welded in war’s fierce flame, Forged on the hearth of fame, The sacred Constitution was ordained; Tried in the fire of time, Tempered in woes sublime, An age was passed and left it yet unstained. God grant its glories still may shine, While ages fade, forgotten, in time’s slow decline! Honor the few who shared Freedom’s first fight, and dared To face war’s desperate tide at the full flood; Who fell on hard-won ground, And into Freedom’s wound Poured the sweet balsam of their brave hearts’ blood. They fell; but o’er that glorious grave Floats free the banner of the cause they died to save. In radiance heavenly fair, Floats on the peaceful air That flag that never stooped from Victory’s pride; Those stars that softly gleam, Those stripes that o’er us stream, In war’s grand agony were sanctified; A holy standard, pure and free, To light the home of peace, or blaze in victory. Father, whose mighty power Shields us through life’s short hour, To Thee we pray: Bless us and keep us free; All that is past forgive; Teach us, henceforth, to live That, through our country, we may honor Thee; And, when this mortal life shall cease, Take Thou, at last, our souls to Thine eternal peace.