Poems of American Patriotism Part 21

Look farther back! Three centuries!

To where a naked, shivering score, s.n.a.t.c.hed from their haunts across the seas, Stood, wild-eyed, on Virginia's sh.o.r.e.

This land is ours by right of birth, This land is ours by right of toil; We helped to turn its virgin earth, Our sweat is in its fruitful soil.

Where once the tangled forest stood,-- Where flourished once rank weed and thorn,-- Behold the path-traced, peaceful wood, The cotton white, the yellow corn.

To gain these fruits that have been earned, To hold these fields that have been won, Our arms have strained, our backs have burned, Bent bare beneath a ruthless sun.

That Banner which is now the type Of victory on field and flood-- Remember, its first crimson stripe Was dyed by Attucks' willing blood.

And never yet has come the cry-- When that fair flag has been a.s.sailed-- For men to do, for men to die, That we have faltered or have failed.

We've helped to bear it, rent and torn, Through many a hot-breath'd battle breeze; Held in our hands, it has been borne And planted far across the seas.

And never yet,--O haughty Land, Let us, at least, for this be praised-- Has one black, treason-guided hand Ever against that flag been raised.

Then should we speak but servile words, Or shall we hang our heads in shame?

Stand back of new-come foreign hordes, And fear our heritage to claim?

No! stand erect and without fear, And for our foes let this suffice-- We've bought a rightful sonship here, And we have more than paid the price.

And yet, my brothers, well I know The tethered feet, the pinioned wings, The spirit bowed beneath the blow, The heart grown faint from wounds and stings;

The staggering force of brutish might, That strikes and leaves us stunned and dazed; The long, vain waiting through the night To hear some voice for justice raised.

Full well I know the hour when hope Sinks dead, and 'round us everywhere Hangs stifling darkness, and we grope With hands uplifted in despair.

Courage! Look out, beyond, and see The far horizon's beckoning span!

Faith in your G.o.d-known destiny!

We are a part of some great plan.

Because the tongues of Garrison And Phillips now are cold in death, Think you their work can be undone?

Or quenched the fires lit by their breath?

Think you that John Brown's spirit stops?

That Lovejoy was but idly slain?

Or do you think those precious drops From Lincoln's heart were shed in vain?

That for which millions prayed and sighed, That for which tens of thousands fought, For which so many freely died, G.o.d cannot let it come to naught.

THE AMERICAN VOLUNTEERS

MARIE VAN VORST

August, 1914-April, 1917 _In the long months before the United States entered the war many Americans took service under the flag of France._

NEUTRAL! America, you cannot give To your sons' souls neutrality. Your powers Are sovereign, Mother, but past histories live In hearts as young as ours.

We who are free disdain oppression, l.u.s.t And infamous raid. We have been pioneers For freedom and our code of honor must Dry and not startle tears.

We've read of Lafayette, who came to give His youth, with his companions and their powers, To help the Colonies--and heroes live In hearts as young as ours!

Neutral! We who go forth with sword and lance, A little band to swell the battle's flow, Go willingly, to pay again to France Some of the debt we owe.

I HAVE A RENDEZVOUS WITH DEATH. . .

ALAN SEEGER

[Sidenote: 1914, 1916]

_The writer of this was a member of the French Foreign Legion. He was killed in action July 4, 1916._

I have a rendezvous with Death At some disputed barricade, When Spring comes back with rustling shade And apple-blossoms fill the air-- I have a rendezvous with Death When Spring brings back blue days and fair.

It may be he shall take my hand And lead me into his dark land And close my eyes and quench my breath-- It may be I shall pa.s.s him still.

I have a rendezvous with Death On some scarred slope of battered hill, When Spring comes round again this year And the first meadow-flowers appear.

G.o.d knows 'twere better to be deep Pillowed in silk and scented down, Where Love throbs out in blissful sleep, Pulse nigh to pulse, and breath to breath, Where hushed awakenings are dear...

But I've a rendezvous with Death At midnight in some flaming town, When Spring trips north again this year, And I to my pledged word am true, I shall not fail that rendezvous.

THE CHOICE

RUDYARD KIPLING

April, 1917

(THE AMERICAN SPIRIT SPEAKS)

_To the Judge of Right and Wrong With Whom fulfilment lies Our purpose and our power belong, Our faith and sacrifice._

Let Freedom's Land rejoice!

Our ancient bonds are riven; Once more to us the eternal choice Of Good or Ill is given.

Not at a little cost, Hardly by prayer or tears, Shall we recover the road we lost In the drugged and doubting years.

But, after the fires and the wrath, But, after searching and pain, His Mercy opens us a path To live with ourselves again.