Thomas R. Lounsbury, ed. (1838–1915). Yale Book of American Verse. 1912.
William Cullen Bryant 17941878
William Cullen Bryant26 Oh Mother of a Mighty Race
O
Yet lovely in thy youthful grace!
The elder dames, thy haughty peers,
Admire and hate thy blooming years.
With words of shame
And taunts of scorn they join thy name.
That tints thy morning hills with red; Thy step—the wild deer’s rustling feet Within thy woods are not more fleet; Thy hopeful eye Is bright as thine own sunny sky. While safe thou dwellest with thy sons. They do not know how loved thou art, How many a fond and fearless heart Would rise to throw Its life between thee and the foe. What virtues with thy children bide; How true, how good, thy graceful maids Make bright, like flowers, the valley-shades; What generous men Spring, like thine oaks, by hill and glen. By thy lone rivers of the West; How faith is kept, and truth revered, And man is loved, and God is feared, In woodland homes, And where the ocean-border foams. For Earth’s down-trodden and opprest, A shelter for the hunted head, For the starved laborer toil and bread. Power, at thy bounds, Stops and calls back his baffled hounds. Shall sit a nobler grace than now. Deep in the brightness of the skies The thronging years in glory rise, And, as they fleet, Drop strength and riches at thy feet. Shall brighten, and thy form shall tower; And when thy sisters, elder born, Would brand thy name with words of scorn, Before thine eye, Upon their lips the taunt shall die.