| |
| WITH head uplifted towards the Polar star, | |
| And feet half buried in the vines and corn, | |
| Our country, of the nations latest born, | |
| Stretches one hand the Atlantic’s waves to bar, | |
| The other—to the setting sun afar— | 5 |
| Rolls back the wide Pacific towards the morn! | |
| And yet, methinks, distracted and forlorn | |
| She looks—from things that were to things that are— | |
| With doubtful eyes, that all uncertain sweep | |
| The wide horizon, as if searching there | 10 |
| For one strong love to make her pulses leap | |
| With one strong impulse! Wayward passions tear | |
| The heart that should be set in purpose deep, | |
| And cloud the eyes that should be raised in prayer! | |
| |
| O God of nations, who hast set her place | 15 |
| Between the rising and the setting day, | |
| Her part in this world’s changeful course to play, | |
| Soothe the conflicting passions that we trace | |
| In her unrestful eyes—grant her the grace | |
| To know the one true perfect love that may | 20 |
| Give noble impulse to her onward way— | |
| God’s love, that doth all other loves embrace! | |
| Gird her with panoply of truth and right | |
| In which she may go forth her fate to meet— | |
| Ithuriel’s spear, to crush with angel might | 25 |
| The brood of darkness crouching at her feet; | |
| With faith to nerve her will and clear her sight, | |
| Till she shall round a destiny complete! | |
| |
