America First Part 18

Our fathers' G.o.d, to Thee, Author of liberty, To Thee we sing; Long may our land be bright With freedom's holy light; Protect us by Thy might, Great G.o.d, our King!

Samuel F. Smith

THE AMERICAN FLAG

When Freedom, from her mountain height, Unfurled her standard to the air, She tore the azure robe of night, And set the stars of glory there.

She mingled with its gorgeous dyes The milky baldric of the skies, And striped its pure celestial white With streakings of the morning light.

Then, from his mansion in the sun, She called her eagle bearer down, And gave into his mighty hand The symbol of her chosen land.

Flag of the free heart's hope and home, By angel hands to valor given!

Thy stars have lit the welkin dome, And all thy hues were born in heaven.

Forever float that standard sheet!

Where breathes the foe but falls before us, With Freedom's soil beneath our feet, And Freedom's banner streaming o'er us!

Joseph Rodman Drake

SONG OF MARION'S MEN

Our band is few but true and tried, Our leader frank and bold; The British soldier trembles When Marion's name is told.

Our fortress is the good greenwood, Our tent the cypress tree; We know the forest round us, As seamen know the sea.

We know its walls of th.o.r.n.y vines, Its glades of reedy gra.s.s, Its safe and silent islands Within the dark mora.s.s.

Woe to the English soldiery That little dread us near!

On them shall light at midnight A strange and sudden fear When, waking to their tents on fire, They grasp their arms in vain, And they who stand to face us Are beat to earth again; And they who fly in terror deem A mighty host behind, And hear the tramp of thousands Upon the hollow wind.

Then sweet the hour that brings release From danger and from toil: We talk the battle over, And share the battle's spoil.

The woodland rings with laugh and shout, As if a hunt were up, And woodland flowers are gathered To crown the soldier's cup.

With merry songs we mock the wind That in the pine-top grieves, And slumber long and sweetly On beds of oaken leaves.

Well knows the fair and friendly moon The band that Marion leads-- The glitter of their rifles, The scampering of their steeds.

'Tis life to guide the fiery barb Across the moonlight plain; 'Tis life to feel the night wind That lifts his tossing mane.

A moment in the British camp-- A moment--and away, Back to the pathless forest, Before the peep of day.

Grave men there are by broad Santee, Grave men with h.o.a.ry hairs; Their hearts are all with Marion, For Marion are their prayers.

And lovely ladies greet our band, With kindliest welcoming, With smiles like those of summer, And tears like those of spring.

For them we wear these trusty arms, And lay them down no more Till we have driven the Briton, Forever from our sh.o.r.e.

William Cullen Bryant

THE OLD CONTINENTALS

In their ragged regimentals Stood the old Continentals, Yielding not, When the grenadiers were lunging, And like hail fell the plunging Cannon shot; When the files Of the isles, From the smoky night encampment, bore the banner of the rampant Unicorn; And grummer, grummer, grummer, rolled the roll of the drummer Through the morn!

Then with eyes to the front all, And with guns horizontal, Stood our sires; And the b.a.l.l.s whistled deadly, And in streams flashing redly, Blazed the fires: As the roar On the sh.o.r.e Swept the strong battle breakers o'er the green-sodded acres Of the plain; And louder, louder, louder, cracked the black gunpowder, Cracking amain!

Now like smiths at their forges Worked the red St. George's Cannoneers, And the villainous saltpetre Rung a fierce, discordant meter Round their ears; As the swift Storm drift, With hot sweeping anger, came the horseguards' clangor On our flanks; Then higher, higher, higher, burned the old-fashioned fire Through the ranks!

Then the bareheaded colonel Galloped through the white infernal Powder cloud; And his broadsword was swinging, And his brazen throat was ringing Trumpet-loud; Then the blue Bullets flew, And the trooper jackets redden at the touch of the leaden Rifle breath; And rounder, rounder, rounder, roared the iron six-pounder, Hurling death!

Guy Humphreys McMaster

THE SWORD OF BUNKER HILL

He lay upon his dying bed; His eye was growing dim, When with a feeble voice he called His weeping son to him: "Weep not, my boy!" the vet'ran said, "I bow to Heaven's high will-- But quickly from yon antlers bring The sword of Bunker Hill."

The sword was brought, the soldier's eye Lit with a sudden flame; And as he grasped the ancient blade, He murmured Warren's name; Then said, "My boy, I leave you gold-- But what is richer still, I leave you, mark me, mark me now-- The sword of Bunker Hill.

"'Twas on that dread, immortal day, I dared the Briton's band, A captain raised this blade on me-- I tore it from his hand: And while the glorious battle raged, It lightened freedom's will-- For, boy, the G.o.d of freedom blessed The sword of Bunker Hill.

"Oh, keep the sword!"--his accents broke-- A smile--and he was dead-- But his wrinkled hand still grasped the blade Upon that dying bed.

The son remains; the sword remains-- Its glory growing still-- And twenty millions bless the sire, And sword of Bunker Hill.

William Ross Wallace

LIBERTY TREE[2]

In a chariot of light from the regions of day, The G.o.ddess of Liberty came; Ten thousand celestials directed the way, And hither conducted the dame.

A fair budding branch from the gardens above, Where millions with millions agree, She brought in her hand as a pledge of her love, And the plant she named _Liberty Tree_.

The celestial exotic struck deep in the ground, Like a native it flourished and bore; The fame of its fruit drew the nation's around, To seek out this peaceable sh.o.r.e.

Unmindful of names or distinctions they came, For freemen like brothers agree; With one spirit endued, they one friendship pursued, And their temple was _Liberty Tree_.

Beneath this fair tree, like the patriarchs of old, Their bread in contentment they ate Unvexed with the troubles of silver and gold, The cares of the grand and the great.

With timber and tar they Old England supplied, And supported her power on the sea; Her battles they fought, without getting a groat, For the honor of _Liberty Tree_.

But hear, O ye swains, 'tis a tale most profane, How all the tyrannical powers, Kings, Commons and Lords, are uniting amain, To cut down this guardian of ours; From the east to the west blow the trumpet to arms, Through the land let the sound of it flee, Let the far and the near, all unite with a cheer, In defense of our _Liberty Tree_.