Classic Poem

If the neighbor-lands three should cry: " Forget
Our greatness of bygone ages! "
I 'd answer: " Arise, O North, who yet
May'st be what my dream presages! "
The vision of greatness may bring again
New deeds like those of our betters.
Come, open the graves — nay, give us men
For Science and Art and Letters!

Ay, close to a cliff, let our people stand,
Where a fool his poor neck may shatter.
There are other things, men, to hold in your hand
Than a brim-full Egyptian platter.
It were better the plate should be split in two
Than that hearts should rot when still living.
That no race may be more great than you, —
That 's the goal, why count we the striving?

It were better to feel the avenger's might
Than that years unto naught should have hasted,
It were better our people should perish quite
And our fields and cities be wasted.
It is braver the chance of the dice to take
Than to mope till our fire is expended;
It is finer to hear the bow-string break
Than never the bow to have bended.
I wake in the night, but I hear no sound
Save the waters seething and churning.
Like a soldier of Judah, prone on the ground,
I could pray with passionate yearning.
I ask not a year of sunshine bright,
Nor for golden crops I importune.
Kind Fate, let the blazing thunderbolt smite
My people with years of misfortune!

Yea, smite us and lash us into one,
And the bluest of springs will follow.
Ye smile, my folk, but with face as of stone,
Ye sing, but your joy is hollow.
Ye rather would dance in silk attire
Than solve your own riddle clearly.
To youthful deeds ye might yet aspire
If again ye could weep sincerely.

Then on, fair daughter, in hardship bred,
Let shyness and sloth forsake thee!
We love thee so that, if thou wert dead,
Our love to life could awake thee.
Though the bed be hard, though the midnight lowers,
We 'll be true while the tempest rages,
Thou people, thou land, thou speech that is ours,
Thou voice of our souls to the ages?