Classic Poem

Oh, lion of the ample earth,
What sword can cleave thy smews through?
The south forever cradles you;
And yet the great North gives you birth.

Go find an arm so strong, so sure,
Go forge a sword so keen, so true,
That it can thrust thy bosom through;
Then may this union not endure!

In orange lands I lean today
Against thy warm tremendous mouth,
Oh, tawny lion of the South,
To hear what story you shall say.

What story of the stormy North,
Of frost-bound homes, of babes at play,
What tales of twenty States the day
You left your lair and leapt forth:

The day you tore the mountain's breast
And in the icy North uprose,
And shook your sides of rains and snows,
And rushed against the South to rest:

Oh, tawny river, what of they,
The far North folk? The maiden sweet —
The ardent lover at her feet —
What story of thy States today!

The river kissed my garment's hem
And whispered as it swept away:
" God's story in all States today
Is of a babe of Bethlehem. "