Classic Poem

But harken, my America, my own,
Great Mother with the hill-flower in your hair!
Diviner is that light you bear alone,
That dream that keeps your face forever fair.

'Tis yours to bear the World-State in your dream;
To strike down Mammon and his brazen breed;
To build the Brother-Future, beam on beam—
Yours, mighty one, to shape the mighty deed.

The armèd heavens lean down to hear your fame,
America: rise to your high-born part:
The thunders of the sea are in your name,
The splendors of the sunrise in your heart.

But harken, my America, my own,
—Great Mother with the hill-flower in your hair!
Diviner is that light you bear alone,
—That dream that keeps your face forever fair.

'Tis yours to bear the World-State in your dream;
—To strike down Mammon and his brazen breed;
To build the Brother-Future, beam on beam—
—Yours, mighty one, to shape the mighty deed.

The armèd heavens lean down to hear your fame,
—America: rise to your high-born part:
The thunders of the sea are in your name,
—The splendors of the sunrise in your heart.