Classic Poem

New boundary lines the sword in blood may trace,
New-name old states, shift Alsace and Lorraine,
May parcel out the islands of the main,
Re-map the continents, drive from their place
Old nations, ancient towns efface;
New capitals may rise, strange monarchs reign,
And seeming loss may balance seeming gain,
Such the sad tale of man's contending race.
Yet read aright the centuries and learn
That man is man, howe'er the battle goes,
And in his bosom, whatsoe'er the ground
He treads, the steady fires of aspiration burn
Patient and hopeful; for his nature knows
That Liberty acknowledges no bound.