The Republic

I.     Not they the great     Who build authority around a State,     And firm on calumny and party hate     Base their ambition. Nor the great are they     Who with disturbance make their way,     Mindful of but to-day     And individual ends that so compel     They know not what they do, yet do it well.     Butthey the great.     Who sacrifice their honor for the State     And set their seal     Upon the writing, consecrate,     Of time and fate,     That says, "He suffered for a People's weal:     Or, calm of soul and eye,     Helped to eliminate     The Madness that makes Progress its wild cry,     And for its policy     Self, a divinity,     That on illusions thrives,     And knows not whither its desire drives     Till on the rocks its headlong vessel rives." II.     God of the wise,     On whom the People wait,     And who at last all evils wilt abate,     Make Thou more keen men's eyes:     Let them behold how Thou at length wilt bring,     From turmoil and confusion now that cling     About the Nation's feet,     Order and calm and peace     With harmony of purpose, wing to wing     As out of Chaos sprang     Light and its co-mate, Law, when loud Thy summons rang     High instruments of power never to cease,     Spirits of destiny,     Who from their lofty seat     Shall put down hate and strife's insanity,     And all contentions old that eat     The country to the quick:     And Common-Sense, the Lion-Heart now sick,     Forth from his dungeon cell     Go free,     With Song, his bold Blondl;     And, stretching forth a stalwart arm     To laboring land and sea,     With his glad coming warm     The land to one accord, one sympathy     Of soul; whose strength shall stand     For something more than gold to all the land,     Making more sure the ties     Of freedom and equality     And Progress; who, unto the watchful skies,     Unfurls his banner and, with challenging hand,     Leads on the world's emprise. III.     God of the just and wise,     Behold! why is it that our mortal eyes     Are not more open to the good that lies     Around our feet? the blessings in disguise     That go with us about our daily deeds     Attending all our needs?     Why is it that, so rich and prodigal,     We will complain     Of Nature her whose liberal hand,     Summer and spring and fall,     Pours out abundance on the Land?     Cotton and oil and grain     O God, make men more sane!     Help them to understand     And trust in her who never failed her due;     Who never camped with Famine and his crew     Or made ally     Of the wild House of old Calamity!     But always faithfully,     Year after generous year,     From forth her barque of plenty, stanch of sail,     Poured big abundance. What did lies avail,     Or what did fear     To make her largess fail? They who descry,     Raising a hue and cry,     Disaster's Harpies darkening the sky     Each month that comes and goes, are they not less     Of insight than the beasts of hill and field,     Who take no worry, knowing Earth will yield     Her usual harvest a sufficiency     For all and more; yea, even enough to bless     The sons of Greed, who make a market of lies     And blacken blessings unto credulous eyes,     Turning them curses, till on every hand     They see, as Speculation sees,     God's benefactions rain, and sun, and snow     Working destruction in the land,     The camping-ground of old hostilities,     Changing all joy to woe     With visitations of her wrath withal,     Proclaiming her, our mother Nature, foe     Undeviating, to our hopes below     Nature, who never yet has failed to bless us all. IV.     By the long leagues of cotton Texas rolls,     And Mississippi bolls;     By the wide seas of wheat     The far Dakotas beat     Against the barriers of the mountainland:     And by the miles of maize     Nebraska lays     Like a vast carpet in     Her House of Nights and Days,     Where, glittering, in council meet     The Spirits of the Cold and Heat,     With old Fertility whose heart they win:     By all the wealth replete     Within our scan,     From Florida to where the snows begin,     Made manifest of Nature unto Man     Behold!     The Land is as a mighty scroll unrolled,     Whereon God writes His name     In harvest: green and gold     And russet making fair as oft of old     Each ddal part He decorates the same     With splendors manifold     Of mountains and of rivers, fruits and flowers;     Sealing each passage of the rubric Hours     With esoteric powers     Of life and love, and all their mystery,     Through which men yet may see     The truth that shall refute the fool that cries,     "God has forgot us and our great emprise!" V.     Of elemental mold     God made our Country, wombing her with gold     And veining her with copper, iron, and coal.     Making her strong for her appointed goal.     High on her eagled peaks His rainbow gleams     Its mighty message: in her mountain streams     His voice is heard: and on the wind and rain     Ride Potencies     And Portents of His purpose, while she dreams     Of great achievements, great activities,     And, weariless of brain,     From plain to busy plain,     And peak to plateau, with unresting hand,     Along the laboring land,     She speeds swift train on train,     Feeling the urge in her of energies,     That bear her business on     From jubilant dawn to dawn,     From where the snow makes dumb     Alaskan heights, to where, like hives of bees,     The prairies hum     With cities; while around her girdling seas     Ships go and come,     Servants and slaves of her vast industries. VI.     And He, who sits above,     And, watching, sees     Her dreams become great actualities,     Out of His love     Will He continue to bestow     Blessings upon her, even more and more,     Until their store     Shall pass the count of all the dreams we know?     Why heed     The sordid souls that worship Greed?     The vampire lives that feed,     Feast and grow fat     On what they name the Proletariat;     Wringing with blood and sweat,     From forth the nation's muscle, heart, and brain,     The strength that keeps her sane:     They, too, shall have their day and cease to be.     Ignoble souls, who, for a market, set     Before the People's eyes     A scarecrow train     Of fabrications, rumors, antic lies     Of havoc and calamity,     Panic appearances of Famine, War,     That for the moment bar     The path of Truth and work their selfish gain. VII.     God of the simple and the wise,     Grant us more light; and lead     The great adventure to its mighty end!     From Thy o'erarching skies     Still give us heed,     And make more clear the way that onward lies.     Not wealth now is her need,     The great Republic's, Wealth, the child of Greed,     Nay, nay! O God, but for the dream we plead,     The dream as well as deed,     The Dream of Beauty which shall so descend     From Thee, and with her inmost being blend,     That it shall help her cause     More than all temporal laws. . . . VIII.     Now, for her soul's increase,     And spirit's peace,     Curb the bright dmon Speed;     Grant her release     From strife; and let the joy that springs     From love of lowly things     Possess her soul and plead     For work that counts for something to the heart,     And grows immortal part     Of life the work called Art;     And let Love lead     Her softly all her days; with quiet hand     Sowing the fruitful land     With spiritual seed     Of wisdom from which blossoms shall expand     Of vital beauty, and her fame increase     More than the wealth of all the centuries. IX.     God of the wise,     The meek and humble, who still look to Thee,     Holding to sanity     And truth and purpose of the great emprise,     Keep her secure,     And beautiful and pure     As when in ages past Thou didst devise,     Saying within Thy heart, "She shall endure!     A great Republic!" Let her course be sure,     O God, and, in detraction's spite,     Unquestionably right;     And in the night,     If night there must be, light a beacon light     To guide her safely through the strife,     The conflict of her soul, with passions rife.     Oh, raise some man of might,     Whose mind shall put down storm and stress of life,     And kindle anew the lamp whose light shall burn,     A Pharos, in the storms,     That shall arise and with confusion shake     Foundations of the walls of Civilization:     A pillar of flame, behold,     Like that of old,     Which Israel followed and its bondage brake,     Leading each night-lost Nation     To refuge in her arms,     Freedom's, away from all the Tyrannies     Of all the Centuries,     Safe on her heart to learn     To hush its heart's alarms.