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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=420672" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>The Crisis</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">ACROSS the Stony Mountains, o'er the desert's drouth and sand,<br>The circles of our empire touch the western ocean's strand;<br>From slumberous Timpanogos, to Gila, wild and free,<br>Flowing down from Nuevo-Leon to California's sea;<br>And from the mountains of the east, to Santa Rosa's shore,<br>The eagles of Mexitli shall beat the air no more.<br>O Vale of Rio Bravo! Let thy simple children weep;<br>Close watch about their holy fire let maids of Pecos keep;<br>Let Taos send her cry across Sierra Madre's pines,<br>And Santa Barbara toll her bells amidst her corn and vines;<br>For lo! the pale land-seekers come, with eager eyes of gain,<br>Wide scattering, like the bison herds on broad Salada's plain.<br>Let Sacramento's herdsmen heed what sound the winds bring down<br>Of footsteps on the crisping snow, from cold Nevada's crown!<br>Full hot and fast the Saxon rides, with rein of travel slack,<br>And, bending o'er his saddle, leaves the sunrise at his back;<br>By many a lonely river, and gorge of fir and pine,<br>On many a wintry hill-top, his nightly camp-fires shine.<br>O countrymen and brothers! that land of lake and plain,<br>Of salt wastes alternating with valleys fat with grain;<br>Of mountains white with winter, looking downward, cold, serene,<br>On their feet with spring-vines tangled and lapped in softest green;<br>Swift through whose black volcanic gates, o'er many a sunny vale,<br>Wind-like the Arapahoe sweeps the bison's dusty trail!<br>Great spaces yet untravelled, great lakes whose mystic shores<br>The Saxon rifle never heard, nor dip of Saxon oars;<br>Great herds that wander all unwatched, wild steeds that none have tamed,<br>Strange fish in unknown streams, and birds the Saxon never named;<br>Deep mines, dark mountain crucibles, where Nature's chemic powers<br>Work out the Great Designer's will; all these ye say are ours!<br>Forever ours! for good or ill, on us the burden lies;<br>God's balance, watched by angels, is hung across the skies.<br>Shall Justice, Truth, and Freedom turn the poised and trembling scale?<br>Or shall the Evil triumph, and robber Wrong prevail?<br>Shall the broad land o'er which our flag in starry splendor waves,<br>Forego through us its freedom, and bear the tread of slaves?<br>The day is breaking in the East of which the prophets told,<br>And brightens up the sky of Time the Christian Age of Gold;<br>Old Might to Right is yielding, battle blade to clerkly pen,<br>Earth's monarchs are her peoples, and her serfs stand up as men;<br>The isles rejoice together, in a day are nations born,<br>And the slave walks free in Tunis, and by Stamboul's Golden Horn!<br>Is this, O countrymen of mine! a day for us to sow<br>The soil of new-gained empire with slavery's seeds of woe?<br>To feed with our fresh life-blood the Old World's cast-off crime,<br>Dropped, like some monstrous early birth, from the tired lap of Time?<br>To run anew the evil race the old lost nations ran,<br>And die like them of unbelief of God, and wrong of man?<br>Great Heaven! Is this our mission? End in this the prayers and tears,<br>The toil, the strife, the watchings of our younger, better years?<br>Still as the Old World rolls in light, shall ours in shadow turn,<br>A beamless Chaos, cursed of God, through outer darkness borne?<br>Where the far nations looked for light, a blackness in the air?<br>Where for words of hope they listened, the long wail of despair?<br>The Crisis presses on us; face to face with us it stands,<br>With solemn lips of question, like the Sphinx in Egypt's sands!<br>This day we fashion Destiny, our web of Fate we spin;<br>This day for all hereafter choose we holiness or sin,<br>Even now from starry Gerizim, or Ebal's cloudy crown<br>We call the dews of blessing or the bolts of cursing down!<br>By all for which the martyrs bore their agony and shame;<br>By all the warning words of truth with which the prophets came;<br>By the Future which awaits us; by all the hopes which cast<br>Their faint and trembling beams across the blackness of the Past;<br>And by the blessed thought of Him who for Earth's freedom died,<br>O my people! O my brothers! let us choose the righteous side.<br>So shall the Northern pioneer go joyful on his way;<br>To wed Penobscot's waters to San Francisco's bay;<br>To make the rugged places smooth, and sow the vales with grain;<br>And bear, with Liberty and Law, the Bible in his train:<br>The mighty West shall bless the East, and sea shall answer sea,<br>And mountain unto mountain call, Praise God for we are free!</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=John+Greenleaf+Whittier">John Greenleaf Whittier</a><div class=q>
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<script type="text/javascript" src="//s7.addthis.com/js/300/addthis_widget.js#pubid=citatepedia" async="async"></script><div style="display:inline-block" class="addthis_sharing_toolbox" data-url="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=420672" data-title="The Crisis de John Greenleaf Whittier" data-description="ACROSS the Stony Mountains, o'er the desert's drouth and sand,
The circles of our empire touch the western ocean's strand;
From slumberous Timpanogos, to Gila, wild and free,
Flowing down from Nuevo-Leon to California's sea;
And from the mountains..."></div>
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