Liberty

NEW CASTLE, JULY 4, 1878     For a hundred years the pulse of time         Has throbbed for Liberty;     For a hundred years the grand old clime         Columbia has been free;             For a hundred years our country's love,             The Stars and Stripes, has waved above.     Away far out on the gulf of years -         Misty and faint and white     Through the fogs of wrong - a sail appears,         And the Mayflower heaves in sight,             And drifts again, with its little flock             Of a hundred souls, on Plymouth Rock.     Do you see them there - as long, long since -         Through the lens of History;     Do you see them there as their chieftain prints         In the snow his bended knee,             And lifts his voice through the wintry blast             In thanks for a peaceful home at last?     Though the skies are dark and the coast is bleak,         And the storm is wild and fierce,     Its frozen flake on the upturned cheek         Of the Pilgrim melts in tears,             And the dawn that springs from the darkness there             Is the morning light of an answered prayer.     The morning light of the day of Peace         That gladdens the aching eyes,     And gives to the soul that sweet release         That the present verifies, -             Nor a snow so deep, nor a wind so chill             To quench the flame of a freeman's will!     II     Days of toil when the bleeding hand         Of the pioneer grew numb,     When the untilled tracts of the barren land         Where the weary ones had come             Could offer nought from a fruitful soil             To stay the strength of the stranger's toil.     Days of pain, when the heart beat low,         And the empty hours went by     Pitiless, with the wail of woe         And the moan of Hunger's cry -             When the trembling hands upraised in prayer             Had only the strength to hold them there.     Days when the voice of hope had fled -         Days when the eyes grown weak     Were folded to, and the tears they shed         Were frost on a frozen cheek -             When the storm bent down from the skies and gave             A shroud of snow for the Pilgrim's grave.     Days at last when the smiling sun         Glanced down from a summer sky,     And a music rang where the rivers run,         And the waves went laughing by;             And the rose peeped over the mossy bank             While the wild deer stood in the stream and drank.     And the birds sang out so loud and good,         In a symphony so clear     And pure and sweet that the woodman stood         With his ax upraised to hear,             And to shape the words of the tongue unknown             Into a language all his own -          1     'Sing! every bird, to-day!         Sing for the sky so clear,         And the gracious breath of the atmosphere     Shall waft our cares away.     Sing! sing! for the sunshine free;     Sing through the land from sea to sea;     Lift each voice in the highest key             And sing for Liberty!'          2     'Sing for the arms that fling         Their fetters in the dust         And lift their hands in higher trust     Unto the one Great King;     Sing for the patriot heart and hand;     Sing for the country they have planned;     Sing that the world may understand             This is Freedom's land!'          3     'Sing in the tones of prayer,         Sing till the soaring soul         Shall float above the world's control     In freedom everywhere!     Sing for the good that is to be,     Sing for the eyes that are to see     The land where man at last is free,             O sing for liberty!'     III     A holy quiet reigned, save where the hand     Of labor sent a murmur through the land,     And happy voices in a harmony     Taught every lisping breeze a melody.     A nest of cabins, where the smoke upcurled     A breathing incense to the other world.     A land of languor from the sun of noon,     That fainted slowly to the pallid moon,     Till stars, thick-scattered in the garden-land     Of Heaven by the great Jehovah's hand,     Had blossomed into light to look upon     The dusky warrior with his arrow drawn,     As skulking from the covert of the night     With serpent cunning and a fiend's delight,     With murderous spirit, and a yell of hate     The voice of Hell might tremble to translate:     When the fond mother's tender lullaby     Went quavering in shrieks all suddenly,     And baby-lips were dabbled with the stain     Of crimson at the bosom of the slain,     And peaceful homes and fortunes ruined - lost     In smoldering embers of the holocaust.     Yet on and on, through years of gloom and strife,     Our country struggled into stronger life;     Till colonies, like footprints in the sand,     Marked Freedom's pathway winding through the land -     And not the footprints to be swept away     Before the storm we hatched in Boston Bay, -     But footprints where the path of war begun     That led to Bunker Hill and Lexington, -     For he who "dared to lead where others dared     To follow" found the promise there declared     Of Liberty, in blood of Freedom's host     Baptized to Father, Son, and Holy Ghost!     Oh, there were times when every patriot breast     Was riotous with sentiments expressed     In tones that swelled in volume till the sound     Of lusty war itself was well-nigh drowned.     Oh, those were times when happy eyes with tears     Brimmed o'er as all the misty doubts and fears     Were washed away, and Hope with gracious mien,     Reigned from her throne again a sovereign queen.     Until at last, upon a day like this     When flowers were blushing at the summer's kiss,     And when the sky was cloudless as the face     Of some sweet infant in its angel grace, -     There came a sound of music, thrown afloat     Upon the balmy air - a clanging note     Reiterated from the brazen throat     Of Independence Bell:    A sound so sweet,     The clamoring throngs of people in the streets     Were stilled as at the solemn voice of prayer,     And heads were bowed, and lips were moving there     That made no sound - until the spell had passed,     And then, as when all sudden comes the blast     Of some tornado, came the cheer on cheer     Of every eager voice, while far and near     The echoing bells upon the atmosphere     Set glorious rumors floating, till the ear     Of every listening patriot tingled clear,     And thrilled with joy and jubilee to hear.              I     'Stir all your echoes up,         O Independence Bell,     And pour from your inverted cup         The song we love so well.     'Lift high your happy voice,         And swing your iron tongue     Till syllables of praise rejoice         That never yet were sung.     'Ring in the gleaming dawn         Of Freedom - Toll the knell     Of Tyranny, and then ring on,         O Independence Bell. -     'Ring on, and drown the moan,         Above the patriot slain,     Till sorrow's voice shall catch the tone         And join the glad refrain.     'Ring out the wounds of wrong         And rankle in the breast;     Your music like a slumber-song         Will lull revenge to rest.     'Ring out from Occident         To Orient, and peal     From continent to continent         The mighty joy you feel.     'Ring! Independence Bell!         Ring on till worlds to be     Shall listen to the tale you tell         Of love and Liberty!'     IV     O Liberty - the dearest word     A bleeding country ever heard, -     We lay our hopes upon thy shrine     And offer up our lives for thine.     You gave us many happy years     Of peace and plenty ere the tears     A mourning country wept were dried     Above the graves of those who died     Upon thy threshold.    And again     When newer wars were bred, and men     Went marching in the cannon's breath     And died for thee and loved the death,     While, high above them, gleaming bright,     The dear old flag remained in sight,     And lighted up their dying eyes     With smiles that brightened paradise.     O Liberty, it is thy power     To gladden us in every hour     Of gloom, and lead us by thy hand     As little children through a land     Of bud and blossom; while the days     Are filled with sunshine, and thy praise     Is warbled in the roundelays     Of joyous birds, and in the song     Of waters, murmuring along     The paths of peace, whose flowery fringe     Has roses finding deeper tinge     Of crimson, looking on themselves     Reflected - leaning from the shelves     Of cliff and crag and mossy mound     Of emerald splendor shadow-drowned. -     We hail thy presence, as you come     With bugle blast and rolling drum,     And booming guns and shouts of glee     Commingled in a symphony     That thrills the worlds that throng to see     The glory of thy pageantry.     0And with thy praise, we breathe a prayer     That God who leaves you in our care     May favor us from this day on     With thy dear presence - till the dawn     Of Heaven, breaking on thy face,     Lights up thy first abiding place.