Classic Poem

Why is she late at the Tryst of the Peace-makers?
Where is the youngest and fairest of all,
Last-born of Liberty, darling of Destiny,
Star of the stricken and hope of the thrall?

Russia is here from her plains and her river-gates,
England has come from her isles of the sea,
Italy hastens aleap o'er the hill-tops,
Germany, France, — they forget and agree.

Why lags America? Still at her chivalry,
Saving some little one pressed by the foe?
Spending her treasure and sharing her privilege,
Loosing the captive of hunger and woe?

Lo, she comes radiant! Lo, she comes beautiful!
Welcome and praise for her, hail to her deed!
Place for the selfless one, room for the rescuer,
" Rights of the People" her banner and creed!

Red is her robe, — she is Land of the After-glow;
Red-lit her cheek, — it is heart-glow her own.
Red on her hands! Is it blood? Dares America
Mock the White Muster, red-handed alone?

All of the others are doffing war's garniture,
Swordless and stainless and minded for peace;
She alone alien, unwashed of her battle-smoke, —
Sea-winds pursuing her, shrieking " Release!"

Crownless she sits there, unstarred of her radiance,
Blood on her hands and greed in her heart; —
Blood of young patriots lavished for liberty,
Greed of the conqueror, wile of the mart.

This , for the splendor with which she faced Godward!
This , for the vision that heavened her eyes!
Bulk of the body for soul-growth imperial, —
O the mad barter of sin and surprise!

How can she sing of it, " Sweet land of Liberty,"
She with her clarion used for its ban?
Hushed be the song till the silence reteaches her
Faith that makes faithful to God and to Man!

Have not the fathers pledged her to righteousness?
Died not the sons to redeem from eclipse?
Vision shall star once again the sweet brows of her,
Song be re-born on the beautiful lips!