| |
| SOFTLY the shadows of prairie-land wheat | |
| Ripple and riot adown to her feet; | |
| Murmurs all Nature with joyous acclaim, | |
| Fragrance of summer and shimmer of flame: | |
| Heedless she hears while the centuries slip:— | 5 |
| Chalice of poppy is laid on her lip. | |
| |
| Hark! From the East comes a ravishing note,— | |
| Sweeter was never in nightingale’s throat— | |
| Silence of centuries thrills to the song, | |
| Singing their silence awaited so long; | 10 |
| Low, yet it swells to the heaven’s blue dome, | |
| Child-lips have called the wild meadow-land ‘Home!’ | |
| |
| Deep, as she listens, a dewy surprise | |
| Dawns in the languor that darkens her eyes; | |
| Swift the red blood through her veins, in its flow, | 15 |
| Kindles to rapture her bosom aglow; | |
| Voices are calling, where silence has been, | |
| ‘Look to the future, thou Mother of Men!’ | |
| |
| Onward and onward! Her fertile expanse | |
| Shakes as the tide of her children advance; | 20 |
| Onward and onward! Her blossoming floor | |
| Yields her an opium potion no more; | |
| Onward! and soon on her welcoming soil | |
| Cities shall palpitate, myriads toil. | |
| |
