From My Country
by George Edward Woodberry (1855-1930) |
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O DESTINED Land, unto thy citadel,
What founding
fates even now doth peace compel,
That through the world
thy name is sweet to tell!
O thron�d Freedom, unto thee
is brought
Empire; nor falsehood nor blood-payment asked;
Who never through deceit thy ends hast sought,
Nor
toiling millions for ambition tasked;
Unlike the fools
who build the throne
On fraud, and wrong, and woe;
For
man at last will take his own,
Nor count the overthrow;
But far from these is set thy continent,
Nor fears the
Revolution in man's rise;
On laws that with the weal of
all consent,
And saving truths that make the people wise:
For thou art founded in the eternal fact
That every
man doth greaten with the act
Of freedom; and doth
strengthen with the weight
Of duty; and diviner moulds
his fate,
By sharp experience taught the thing he lacked,
God's pupil; thy large maxim framed, though late,
Who
masters best himself best serves the State.
This wisdom
is thy Corner: next the stone
Of Bounty; thou hast given
all; thy store,
Free as the air, and broadcast as the
light,
Thou flingest; and the fair and gracious sight,
More rich, doth teach thy sons this happy lore:
That no
man lives who takes not priceless gifts
Both of thy
substance and thy laws, whereto
He may not plead desert,
but holds of thee
A childhood title, shared with all who
grew,
His brethren of the hearth; whence no man lifts
Above the common right his claim; nor dares
To fence his
pastures of the common good:
For common are thy fields;
common the toil;
Common the charter of prosperity,
That gives to each that all may blessed be.
This is the
very counsel of thy soil.
Therefore, if any thrive,
mean-souled he spares
The alms he took; let him not think
subdued
The State's first law, that civic rights are
strong
But while the fruits of all to all belong;
Although he heir the fortune of the earth,
Let him not
hoard, nor spend it for his mirth,
But match his private
means with public worth.
That man in whom the people's
riches lie
Is the great citizen, in his country's eye.
Justice, the third great base, that shall secure
To each
his earnings, howsoever poor,
From each his duties,
howsoever great.
She bids the future for the past atone.
Behold her symbols on the hoary stone�
The awful scales
and that war-hammered beam
Which whoso thinks to break
doth fondly dream,
Or Czars who tyrannize or mobs that
rage;
These are her charge, and heaven's eternal law.
She from old fountains doth new judgment draw.
Till, word
by word, the ancient order swerves
To the true course
more nigh; in every age
A little she creates, but more
preserves.
Hope stands the last, a mighty prop of fate.
These thy foundations are, O firm-set State! |
By George Edward Woodberry (1855-1930)
Listed May 7, 2013 |
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