"What Think Ye, Masters, of These Things?"

O, ye who frame the sovereign law, And heal the hurts of ocean isles Till hid are savage tooth and claw And Peace above the battle smiles,— If Justice reigns and Mercy clings, What think ye, Masters, of these things? The Father of the Waters greets Imperial sisters proud and great, And nation mighty nation meets At festal boards of lordly state: But one—one only,—maketh moan: Denied the Star, she weeps alone! The cycles fly on eagled wings: A hundred years have run their quest Since he who bought and sold with kings An empire added to the West: And all his regions rulers are Save her alone who mourns the Star. The wildness in a moment died; A garden bloomed and fruited full Across the plains and valleys wide At touch of hands invincible; But mute she stands where deserts were: The banner holds no Star for her!

The race heaps high its conquered spoil; The braggart heirs of all men do Assemble where the Triumphs toil In marshaled columns for review; And she, the Starless, at your call Brings trophies that surpass them all! Are not her laurels rich and rare? Her apt attainments great with grace? You crown her here and everywhere Save where she pleads for power and place; The world amazed her praises rings: What think ye, Masters, of these things? She wonders wrought with wondrous hands: Her cities crowd the teeming plains, And church and school exalt the lands With all of mankind's greater gains;— The last of all the waste, she brings The triumphs of her million kings! A million white and black and red Whose treble toils misunderstood Build happy homes and fondly wed The desert place with joyous good, And at your feet, uncrowned, unblest Kneel for the knighthood of their quest! Thralled in her chains, this fairest one Of all the realms that greatly found Rich largess on the barrens dun Pleads from her fetters, vassal-bound; And still the Star before her swings: What think ye, Masters, of these things?