Hymn of the West

Edmund Clarence Stedman (1833–1908)

World’s Fair, St. Louis

O THOU, whose glorious orbs on high

Engird the earth with splendor round,

From out Thy secret place draw nigh

The courts and temples of this ground;

Eternal Light,

Fill with Thy might

These domes that in Thy purpose grew,

And lift a nation’s heart anew!

Illumine Thou each pathway here,

To show the marvels God hath wrought

Since first Thy people’s chief and seer

Looked up with that prophetic thought,

Bade Time unroll

The fateful scroll,

And empire unto Freedom gave

From cloudland height to tropic wave.

Poured through the gateways of the North

Thy mighty rivers join their tide,

And on the wings of morn sent forth

Their mists the far-off peaks divide.

By Thee unsealed,

The mountains yield

Ores that the wealth of Ophir shame,

And gems enwrought of seven-hued flame.

Lo, through what years the soil hath lain,

At Thine own time to give increase—

The greater and the lesser grain,

The ripening boll, the myriad fleece!

Thy creatures graze

Appointed ways;

League after league across the land

The ceaseless herds obey Thy hand.

Thou, whose high archways shine most clear

Above the plenteous western plain,

Thine ancient tribes from round the sphere

To breathe its quickening air are fain;

And smiles the sun

To see made one

Their brood throughout Earth’s greenest space,

Land of the new and lordlier race!