The Avenue Of The Allies
This is the song of the wind as it came
Tossing the flags of the nations to flame:
_I am the breath of God. I am His laughter.
I am His Liberty. That is my name._
So it descended, at night, on the city.
So it went lavishing beauty and pity,
Lighting the lordliest street of the world
With half of the banners that earth has unfurled;
Over the lamps that are brighter than stars.
Laughing aloud on its way to the wars,
Proud as America, sweeping along
Death and destruction like notes in a song,
Leaping to battle as man to his mate,
Joyous as God when he moved to create,--
Never was voice of a nation so glorious,
Glad of its cause and afire with its fate!
Never did eagle on mightier pinion
Tower to the height of a brighter dominion,
Kindling the hope of the prophets to flame,
Calling aloud on the deep as it came,
_Cleave me a way for an army with banners.
I am His Liberty. That is my name._
Know you the meaning of all they are doing?
Know you the light that their soul is pursuing?
Know you the might of the world they are making,
This nation of nations whose heart is awaking?
What is this mingling of peoples and races?
Look at the wonder and joy in their faces!
Look how the folds of the union are spreading!
Look, for the nations are come to their wedding.
How shall the folk of our tongue be afraid of it?
England was born of it. England was made of it,
Made of this welding of tribes into one,
This marriage of pilgrims that followed the sun!
Briton and Roman and Saxon were drawn
By winds of this Pentecost, out of the dawn,
Westward, to make her one people of many;
But here is a union more mighty than any.
Know you the soul of this deep exultation?
Know you the word that goes forth to this nation?
_I am the breath of God. I am His Liberty.
Let there be light over all His creation._
Over this Continent, wholly united,
They that were foemen in Europe are plighted.
Here, in a league that our blindness and pride
Doubted and flouted and mocked and denied,
Dawns the Republic, the laughing, gigantic
Europe, united, beyond the Atlantic.
That is America, speaking one tongue,
Acting her epics before they are sung,
Driving her rails from the palms to the snow,
Through States that are greater than Emperors know,
Forty-eight States that are empires in might,
But ruled by the will of one people tonight,
Nerved as one body, with net-works of steel,
Merging their strength in the one Commonweal,
Brooking no poverty, mocking at Mars,
Building their cities to talk with the stars.
Thriving, increasing by myriads again
Till even in numbers old Europe may wane.
How shall a son of the England they fought
Fail to declare the full pride of his thought,
Stand with the scoffers who, year after year,
Bring the Republic their half-hidden sneer?
Now, as in beauty she stands at our side,
Who shall withhold the full gift of his pride?
Not the great England who knows that her son,
Washington, fought her, and Liberty won.
England, whose names like the stars in their station,
Stand at the foot of that world's Declaration,--
Washington, Livingston, Langdon, she claims them,
It is her right to be proud when she names them,
Proud of that voice in the night as it came,
Tossing the flags of the nations to flame:
_I am the breath of God. I am His laughter.
I am His Liberty. That is my name._
Flags, in themselves, are but rags that are dyed.
Flags, in that wind, are like nations enskied.
See, how they grapple the night as it rolls
And trample it under like triumphing souls.
Over the city that never knew sleep,
Look at the riotous folds as they leap.
Thousands of tri-colors, laughing for France,
Ripple and whisper and thunder and dance;
Thousands of flags for Great Britain aflame
Answer their sisters in Liberty's name.
Belgium is burning in pride overhead.
Poland is near, and her sunrise is red.
Under and over, and fluttering between,
Italy burgeons in red, white, and green.
See, how they climb like adventurous flowers,
Over the tops of the terrible towers....
_There, in the darkness, the glories are mated.
There, in the darkness, a world is created.
There, in this Pentecost, streaming on high.
There, with a glory of stars in the sky.
There the broad flag of our union and liberty
Rides the proud night-wind and tyrannies die._
poem by Alfred Noyes
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Republic And Motherland
(Written after entering New York Harbor at Daybreak)
Up the vast harbor with the morning sun
The ship swept in from sea;
Gigantic towers arose, the night was done,
And--there stood Liberty.
Silent, the great torch lifted in one hand,
The dawn in her proud eyes,
Silent, for all the shouts that vex her land,
Silent, hailing the skies;
Hailing that mightier Kingdom of the Blest
Our seamen sought of old,
The dream that lured the nations through the West,
The city of sunset gold.
Saxon and Norman in one wedded soul
Shook out one flag like fire;
But westward, westward, moved the gleaming goal,
Westward, the vast desire.
Westward and ever westward ran the call,
They followed the pilgrim sun,
Seeking that land which should enfold them all,
And weld all hearts in one.
Here on this mightier continent apart,
Here on these rolling plains,
Swells the first throb of that immortal heart,
The pulse of those huge veins.
Still, at these towers, our Old-World cities jest,
And neither hear nor see
The brood of gods at that gigantic breast,
The conquering race to be.
Chosen from many--for no sluggard soul
Confronts that night of stars--
The trumpets of the last Republic roll
Far off, an end to wars;
An end, an end to that wild blood-red age,
That made and keeps us blind;
A mightier realm shall be her heritage,
The kingdom of mankind.
Chosen from many nations, and made one;
But first, O Mother, from thee,
When, following, following on that Pilgrim sun,
Thy Mayflower crossed the sea.
poem by Alfred Noyes
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The Union
You that have gathered together the sons of all races,
And welded them into one,
Lifting the torch of your Freedom on hungering faces
That sailed to the setting sun;
You that have made of mankind in your own proud regions
The music of man to be,
How should the old earth sing of you, now, as your legions
Rise to set all men free?
How should the singer that knew the proud vision and loved it,
In the days when not all men knew,
Gaze through his tears, on the light, now the world has approved it;
Or dream, when the dream comes true?
How should he sing when the Spirit of Freedom in thunder
Speaks, and the wine-press is red;
And the sea-winds are loud with the chains that are broken asunder
And nations that rise from the dead?
Flag of the sky, proud flag of that wide communion,
Too mighty for thought to scan;
Flag of the many in one, and that last world-union
That kingdom of God in man;
Ours was a dream, in the night, of that last federation,
But yours is the glory unfurled--
The marshalled nations and stars that shall make one nation
One singing star of the world.
poem by Alfred Noyes
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And The World We Crave
We live in a word
full of flags of different colours
that dance in the wind.
Flags of many nations,
if were united as one
would bring peace
to every beleaguered land.
When we realise
we can be proud of our flag
and respect someone else’s one.
Only then, the seeds of peace
will start to be sown,
and the world will crave
wars no more.
24 May 2008
poem by David Harris
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Union and Liberty
FLAG of the heroes who left us their glory,
Borne through their battle-fields' thunder and flame,
Blazoned in song and illumined in story,
Wave o'er us all who inherit their fame!
Up with our banner bright,
Sprinkled with starry light,
Spread its fair emblems from mountain to shore,
While through the sounding sky
Loud rings the Nation's cry,
UNION AND LIBERTY! ONE EVERMORE!
Light of our firmament, guide of our Nation,
Pride of her children, and honored afar,
Let the wide beams of thy full constellation
Scatter each cloud that would darken a star!
Up with our banner bright,
Sprinkled with starry light,
Spread its fair emblems from mountain to shore,
While through the sounding sky
Loud rings the Nation's cry,
UNION AND LIBERTY! ONE EVERMORE!
Empire unsceptred! what foe shall assail thee,
Bearing the standard of Liberty's van?
Think not the God of thy fathers shall fail thee,
Striving with men for the birthright of man!
Up with our banner bright,
Sprinkled with starry light,
Spread its fair emblems from mountain to shore,
While through the sounding sky
Loud rings the Nation's cry,
UNION AND LIBERTY! ONE EVERMORE!
Yet if, by madness and treachery blighted,
Dawns the dark hour when the sword thou must draw,
Then with the arms of thy millions united,
Smite the bold traitors to Freedom and Law!
Up with our banner bright,
Sprinkled with starry light,
Spread its fair emblems from mountain to shore,
While through the sounding sky
Loud rings the Nation's cry,
UNION AND LIBERTY! ONE EVERMORE!
Lord of the Universe! shield us and guide us,
Trusting Thee always, through shadow and sun!
Thou hast united us, who shall divide us?
Keep us, oh keep us the MANY IN ONE!
Up with our banner bright,
Sprinkled with starry light,
Spread its fair emblems from mountain to shore,
While through the sounding sky
Loud rings the Nation's cry,
UNION AND LIBERTY! ONE EVERMORE!
poem by Oliver Wendell Holmes
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This, My Song, Is Made For Kerensky
(Being a Chant of the American Soap-Box and the Russian Revolution.)
O market square, O slattern place,
Is glory in your slack disgrace?
Plump quack doctors sell their pills,
Gentle grafters sell brass watches,
Silly anarchists yell their ills.
Shall we be as weird as these?
In the breezes nod and wheeze?
Heaven's mass is sung,
Tomorrow's mass is sung
In a spirit tongue
By wind and dust and birds,
The high mass of liberty,
While wave the banners red:
Sung round the soap-box,
A mass for soldiers dead.
When you leave your faction in the once-loved hall,
Like a true American tongue-lash them all,
Stand then on the corner under starry skies
And get you a gang of the worn and the wise.
The soldiers of the Lord may be squeaky when they rally,
The soldiers of the Lord are a queer little army,
But the soldiers of the Lord, before the year is through,
Will gather the whole nation, recruit all creation,
To smite the hosts abhorred, and all the heavens renew —
Enforcing with the bayonet the thing the ages teach —
Free speech!
Free speech!
Down with the Prussians, and all their works.
Down with the Turks.
Down with every army that fights against the soap-box,
The Pericles, Socrates, Diogenes soap-box,
The old Elijah, Jeremiah, John-the-Baptist soap-box,
The Rousseau, Mirabeau, Danton soap-box,
The Karl Marx, Henry George, Woodrow Wilson soap-box.
We will make the wide earth safe for the soap-box,
The everlasting foe of beastliness and tyranny,
Platform of liberty: — Magna Charta liberty,
Andrew Jackson liberty, bleeding Kansas liberty,
New-born Russian liberty: —
Battleship of thought,
The round world over,
Loved by the red-hearted,
Loved by the broken-hearted,
Fair young Amazon or proud tough rover,
Loved by the lion,
Loved by the lion,
Loved by the lion,
Feared by the fox.
The Russian Revolution is the world revolution.
Death at the bedstead of every Kaiser knocks.
The Hohenzollern army shall be felled like the ox.
The fatal hour is striking in all the doomsday clocks.
The while, by freedom's alchemy
Beauty is born.
Ring every sleigh-bell, ring every church bell,
Blow the clear trumpet, and listen for the answer: —
The blast from the sky of the Gabriel horn.
Hail the Russian picture around the little box: —
Exiles,
Troops in files,
Generals in uniform,
Mujiks in their smocks,
And holy maiden soldiers who have cut away their locks.
All the peoples and the nations in processions mad and great,
Are rolling through the Russian Soul as through a city gate: —
As though it were a street of stars that paves the shadowy deep.
And mighty Tolstoi leads the van along the stairway steep.
But now the people shout:
"Hail to Kerensky,
He hurled the tyrants out."
And this my song is made for Kerensky,
Prophet of the world-wide intolerable hope,
There on the soap-box, seasoned, dauntless,
There amid the Russian celestial kaleidoscope,
Flags of liberty, rags and battlesmoke.
Moscow and Chicago!
Come let us praise battling Kerensky,
Bravo! Bravo!
Comrade Kerensky the thunderstorm and rainbow!
Comrade Kerensky, Bravo, Bravo!
poem by Vachel Lindsay
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Dedication : To The Memory Of Cecil Spring-Rice
STEADFAST as any soldier of the line
He served his England, with the imminent death
Poised at his heart. Nor could the world divine
The constant peril of each burdened breath.
England, and the honour of England, he still served
Walking the strict path, with the old high pride
Of those invincible knights who never swerved
One hair's breadth from the way until they died.
Quietness he loved, and books, and the grave beauty
Of England's Helicon, whose eternal light
Shines like a lantern on that road of duty,
Discerned by few in this chaotic night;
And his own pen, foretelling his release,
Told us that he foreknew ' the end was peace.'
II.
Soldier of England, he shall live unsleeping
Among his friends, with the old proud flag above;
For even to-day her honour is in his keeping,
He has joined the hosts that guard her with their love.
They shine like stars, unnumbered happy legions,
In that high realm where all our darkness dies.
He moves with honour, in those loftier regions,
Above this ' world of passion and of lies ';
For so he called it, keeping his own pure passion
A silent flame before the true and good;
Not fawning on the throng in this world's fashion
To come and see what all might see who would.
Soldier of England, perfect, gentle knight,
The soul of Sidney welcomes you to-night.
poem by Alfred Noyes
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England
ENGLAND, England, England,
Girdled by ocean and skies,
And the power of a world, and the heart of a race,
And a hope that never dies.
England, England, England,
Wherever a true heart beats,
Wherever the rivers of commerce flow,
Wherever the bugles of conquest blow,
Wherever the glories of liberty grow,
'Tis the name that the world repeats.
And ye, who dwell in the shadow
Of the century-sculptured piles,
Where sleep our century-honoured dead,
Whilst the great world thunders overhead,
And far out, miles on miles,
Beyond the smoke of the mighty town,
The blue Thames dimples and smiles;
Not yours alone the glory of old,
Of the splendid thousand years,
Of Britain's might and Britain's right
And the brunt of British spears.
Not yours alone, for the great world round,
Ready to dare and do,
Scot and Celt and Norman and Dane,
With the Northman's sinew and heart and brain,
And the Northman's courage for blessing or bane,
Are England's heroes too.
North and south and east and west,
Wherever their triumphs be,
Their glory goes home to the ocean-girt isle,
Where the heather blooms and the roses smile,
With the green isle under her lee.
And if ever the smoke of an alien gun
Should threaten her iron repose,
Shoulder to shoulder against the world,
Face to face with her foes,
Scot, and Celt and Saxon are one
Where the glory of England goes.
And we of the newer and vaster West,
Where the great war-banners are furled,
And commerce hurries her teeming hosts,
And the cannon are silent along our coasts,
Saxon and Gaul, Canadians claim
A part in the glory and pride and aim
Of the Empire that girdles the world.
England, England, England,
Wherever the daring heart
By Arctic floe or torrid strand
Thy heroes play their part;
For as long as conquest holds the earth,
Or commerce sweeps the sea,
By orient jungle or western plain
Will the Saxon spirit be:
And whatever the people that dwell beneath,
Or whatever the alien tongue,
Over the freedom and peace of the world
Is the flag of England flung,
Till the last great freedom is found,
And the last great truth be taught,
Till the last great deed be done,
And the last great battle is fought;
Till the last great fighter is slain in the last great fight,
And the war-wolf is dead in his den–
England, breeder of hope and valour and might,
Iron mother of men.
Yea, England, England, England,
Till honour and valour are dead,
Till the world's great cannons rust,
Till the world's great hopes are dust,
Till faith and freedom be fled,
Till wisdom and justice have passed
To sleep with those who sleep in the many-chambered vast,
Till glory and knowledge are charnelled dust in dust,
To all that is best in the world's unrest,
In heart and mind you are wed.
While out from the Indian jungle
To the far Canadian snows,
Over the East and over the West,
Over the worst and over the best,
The flag of the world to its winds unfurled,
The blood-red ensign blows.
poem by William Wilfred Campbell
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Descendants of New England pioneers are proud of their ancestry and glad to proclaim the fact that so far as the United States are concerned, New England is in deed the cradle of religious liberty.
quote by Paul Harris
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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My Family ‘America’
Our Forefathers knew what they were doing
When they spent hours writing America’s freedoms
We celebrate with bombs bursting in air
Taking pride in the red, white, and blue that flows everywhere
Solder boy protecting and taking up arms
Warding off anyone who wants to do Americans harm
America, we are the home of the brave and carry it with pride
Known all over the world for being the home of the free with God on our side
The wall, a remembrance for those who died
A memorial for those who fought in a war and lost their lives
Our Military will always be the ones to give their all
Making sure our Country will stand in pride and never fall
Graceful eagle in peaceful flight soaring into the great divine
Lady Liberty standing with her light a shine
Liberty bell rings across the land with freedom sounds
Just a reminder to America’s family with prideful abound
God will stand beside us…and pull us through
No matter what another Nation or cowards may do
For America we are free to be who we want to be
And the terrorist who hates us has no place in our society
Please remember that September day
When America was shaken in an unthinkable way
For the terrorist even made Heavenly Angels cry
When strangers in planes took away innocent lives
What America means to me…
As a Father who protects us from unwelcome Strangers
As a Mother who nurtures and worries about the dangers
As a Friend they are always there when you need them.
She is the greatest of all Nations and a blessing to be born in…
My Family ‘America’
Written by
Katherine Kay Graven
August twenty eight two thousand six
poem by Katherine Kay Graven
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All Nations Accountable Before God
All sovereign countries
are important to God.
All nations peoples
cultures are important to God.
Yet in the United Nations
few countries really count
select few dominate veto vote
decide fate of peoples nations
carve up choice world spoils.
United Nations politic monopoly
an African country exploited here
an Arab country oil carved up there
all impinges upon sovereign rights
cultural heritage civilian liberty
innocent lives lambs slaughter slavery
invade Muslim Afghanistan Iraq Libya
occasionally get United Nations
approval for chosen conflict zones
naive believe agenda NATO flying pilots
create war on terrorism justified slogans
but forget not divine God knows plans
time avenges cultures nations peoples
proud pharaoh his nation suffered plagues
all nations eventually judged as God says
poem by Terence George Craddock
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Coronation Ode
O Thou enfolded in grief,
Man, with thy mantle of scorn!
Arise and warn!
Unloved prophet of ill
Who sittest clothed in thy grief,
In thy pride of unbelief,
In thy silence of love forsworn!
Speak thy word to the world;
Let it be as a sword to thy will;
Let it be as a spear that is hurled,
A banner of wrath unfurled,
A garment rent and torn.
Speak. They shall listen to thee,
A single voice at their feast.
To the last and least,
They shall hear what they loathe to hear.
In the day of their Jubilee,
Of their coronation feast,
With the wine at their insolent lips,
Though they lend no ear
And their shoutings ring
From the decks of a thousand ships
Acclaiming their new--crowned king
With a coronation cheer,
They shall hear.
Speak, in their jubilant hour,
In the midst of their might and mirth.
Be thy theme the Earth,
The ancient tale of the lands of fame,
Empires of earlier birth,
Which held the world in their lust of power
As their own for dower
And abused their trust.
Make thy theme of the wrath that came,
The smoke that rose, the devouring flame,
The day of glory, the night of shame
And the end of dust.
O thou enrobed in thy tears!
Thou hast heard the children sing,
The children that pass in the street,
The innocent ones with their chauntings proud,
The rhyme of their marching feet.
How their voices sting!
What is the word they say
In their play,
The hymn their young lips fashion?
They have marched through the crowded ways
With flags and glory and shoutings loud
While the sun has looked down ablaze,
Amazed at their joyous passion.
Each one carries a sword,
A wooden sword in his hand,
With ribbon and belt and cord,
And a gun on his shoulder glorious,
Proud each one as a lord.
``Soldiers,'' they shout. ``We are soldiers come
From a battle--field. For, hark, the drum!
From a field of fight victorious.''
``Soldiers! Soldiers! Soldiers!'' Weary am I
Of that word forlorn,
Of the king's command,
Of the children's insolent cry,
A nation's cry whom the nations scorn
For its childish pride.
Better were these unborn!
England! Where is she? Where?
Land of the fortunate free
Which hath ceased to be?
What hath she done with her fame?
The nations that envied her
Turned to her in their care,
Sought her light upon land and sea,
Called as once on her ancient name,
The name of her liberty.
But her ears were shut to their prayer;
Her place was a sepulchre,
She had ceased in her strength to be,
She was no more free.
She fell as a star from its place,
As a bird from its path in the sky,
As a spring run dry,
A fruit in its rottenness,
As a drunken woman prone on her face
While the world went by,
And she knew not her own disgrace.
O thou, who hast seen her fall,
Who hast witnessed her agony,
Who hast looked on the face of the dead!
Lift up thy voice in the night and cry
``The harvest is harvested.
As these shall have made their bed,
So let them lie!''
poem by Wilfrid Scawen Blunt
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Proud Old Glory
I am the blood, I am the soul
I am the essence of liberty, so bold
I am the heart, I am the life
I am the dream and the vision, all that's right
I am the hope, I am the truth
I am the faith and the spirit of the aged and the youth
I am the warmth, I am the breath
I am the peace and the honor, life and death
I am justice, I am love
I stand for freedom, and salute our brave
I serve my country with pride
Old Glory is my name, God made this land my home
I am the proud flag of America
I am the proud flag of America.
poem by Trade Martin
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Pro Rege Nostro
WHAT have I done for you,
England, my England?
What is there I would not do,
England, my own?
With your glorious eyes austere,
As the Lord were walking near,
Whispering terrible things and dear
As the Song on your bugles blown, England --
Round the world on your bugles blown!
Where shall the watchful Sun,
England, my England,
Match the master-work you've done,
England, my own?
When shall he rejoice again
Such a breed of mighty men
As come forward, one to ten,
To the Song on your bugles blown, England --
Down the years on your bugles blown?
Ever the faith endures,
England, my England: --
'Take and break us: we are yours,
England, my own!
Life is good, and joy runs high
Between English earth and sky:
Death is death; but we shall die
To the Song on your bugles blown, England --
To the stars on your bugles blown!'
They call you proud and hard,
England, my England:
You with worlds to watch and ward,
England, my own!
You whose mailed hand keeps the keys
Of such teeming destinies,
You could know nor dread nor ease,
Were the Song on your bugles blown, England --
Round the Pit on your bugles blown!
Mother of Ships whose might,
England, my England,
Is the fierce old Sea's delight,
England, my own,
Chosen daughter of the Lord,
Spouse-in-Chief of the ancient Sword,
There's the menace of the Word
In the Song of your bugles blown, England --
Out of heaven on your bugles blown!
poem by William Ernest Henley
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What Have I Done For You
What have I done for you,
England, my England?
What is there I would not do,
England, my own?
With your glorious eyes austere,
As the Lord were walking near,
Whispering terrible things and dear
As the Song on your bugles blown,
England -
Round the world on your bugles blown!
Where shall the watchful Sun,
England, my England,
Match the master-work you've done,
England, my own?
When shall he rejoice agen
Such a breed of mighty men
As come forward, one to ten,
To the Song on your bugles blown,
England -
Down the years on your bugles blown?
Ever the faith endures,
England, my England:-
'Take and break us: we are yours,
'England, my own!
'Life is good, and joy runs high
'Between English earth and sky:
'Death is death; but we shall die
'To the Song on your bugles blown,
'England -
'To the stars on your bugles blown!
They call you proud and hard,
England, my England:
You with worlds to watch and ward,
England, my own!
You whose mailed hand keeps the keys
Of such teeming destinies
You could know nor dread nor ease
Were the Song on your bugles blown,
England,
Round the Pit on your bugles blown!
Mother of Ships whose might,
England, my England,
Is the fierce old Sea's delight,
England, my own,
Chosen daughter of the Lord,
Spouse-in-Chief of the ancient sword,
There's the menace of the Word
In the Song on your bugles blown,
England -
Out of heaven on your bugles blown!
poem by William Ernest Henley
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The people of America
We are the people of America
We fly our flags high and
We live in a America with pride
As we hold each other's hend
United is where we stand!
As the TOWERS fell was this the end?
we couldnt tell!
Now we have our act together we
Love each other more then ever!
No one can tear us apart now we
Are joined by the Heart
We saw the terror at ground zero
We all looked forward to
CELEBRATING our Heroes
We are the people of America
We fly our flags high and
We live in America with pride.
poem by Dianisha Nazario
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Stanzas
Up go the beautiful and world-watch'd stars,
Lifting the glory of America,
'Mong the red flags which gleam through masts
and spars
Crowded in gay magnificence, to-day,
Where three score years ago, none found their way,
Of all the ships which left old England's shore:
Up goes the starry flag, on waves which lay
In undiscover'd solitude, when o'er
America those stars first glanc'd from fields of gore!
In friendly beauty floats that free-fix'd flag
'Gainst England's glowing ensign! I could dream
Of times, when the wild bush, each uncouth crag,
And precipice, beside this haven-stream,
Shall yield to one vast city; and the gleam
Of new-born banners shall illumine it;
And these alike be foreign in the beam
Of Australasia's morning. Heaven admit
One patriot spirit here, and Freedom's fires are lit!
Not ever shall the exile's toil be all
To bring the harvest of this infant land;
The children of the buried exile shall
Behold a mother's beauty, in the bland
Aspect of Nature, on their native strand:
And Freedom then shall choose a dwelling here.
Oh! Happy epoch, when the 'great and grand,'
The memory of whose deeds mankind revere,
Number a Washington, from the world's Austral sphere.
poem by Sir Henry Parkes
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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True Liberty
The day in which one celebrates, Independence of a union of states,
Independence from powers outside; freedom that was once denied,
The freest nation in this world, a point that others sometimes herald,
Causing many who are weary in heart, to come here for a fresh start.
A day of real joyous celebration, all across this now powerful nation,
As our voices together are raised, with full hearts a nation is praised,
Festive fireworks are always planned, in many cities across this land,
Celebrating what many of us see, as the greatest nation in all history.
Liberty we celebrate by proclamation, extends to all within this nation,
However that liberty extends only, to the borders of this dear country,
Beyond the borders and the sea, the nation’s people may not be free,
When many travel to other lands, freedoms turn into other’s demands.
Demands which turn into bondage, leaving this land of great privilege,
Privileges that others only dream of, as they look to this land we love,
A land that is so blessed by God, many agree, on this day with a nod,
But, forgetting Him most of the year; living so privileged, without fear.
There’s a freedom many don’t know, as their freedoms for them grow,
Liberty, from the bondage of sin, that captivates our land from within,
That freedom which we celebrate, doesn’t free men from Satan’s hate,
As the Devil leads a war against God, all across this land that we trod.
Freedom from such an evil foe, comes only when the Savior we know,
Who left all the Glory of Eternity, coming to earth to set captives free,
The only true freedom on this earth, comes to man, by a spiritual birth,
Through the Liberty in Jesus Christ, when in Him they receive New Life.
(Copyright ©07/2008)
Forth Of July Celebration
(7/4/12)
It's the 4th of JULY celebration
Where people who wanted freedom
Fought to create this nation.
Many had died to give us this right
And over two hundred years we continue to fight.
We still give freedom to all who arrive
This is our nations pride.
People who have come here from every nation
Join one another for this celebration.
In our nations capital we have our liberty bell
Where our cry for freedom was to " give them hell".
Through out our nation you will see fireworks shot in the sky
To remind us of how these AMERICANS fought and died.
So weather it be fireworks you shoot in the sky
Or a sparkler that you hold in your hand
Pride is something that we understand.
Join us in this celebration - "feel the pride
Feel the sensation."
poem by Louis Rams
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The Night Of The Lion
'_And that a reply be received before midnight._'
_British Ultimatum_.
Their Day was at twelve of the night,
When the graves give up their dead.
And still, from the City, no light
Yellows the clouds overhead.
Where the Admiral stands there's a star,
But his column is lost in the gloom;
For the brazen doors are ajar,
And the Lion awakes, and the doom.
_He is not of a chosen race.
His strength is the strength of the skies,
In whose glory all nations have place,
In whose downfall Liberty dies.
He is mighty, but he is just.
He shall live to the end of years.
He shall bring the proud to the dust.
He shall raise the weak to the spheres._
It is night on the world's great mart,
But the brooding hush is awake
With the march of a steady heart
That calls like the drum of Drake,
_Come!_ And a muttering deep
As the pulse of the distant guns,
Or the thunder before the leap
Thro' the rolling thoroughfare runs.
And the wounded men go by
Like thoughts in the Lion's brain.
And the clouds lift on high
Like the slow waves of his mane
And the narrowing lids conceal
The furnaces of his eyes.
Their gold is gone out. They reveal
Only two search-lights of steel
Steadily sweeping the skies.
And we hoped he had peace in his lair
Where the bones of old tyrannies lay,
And the skulls that his cubs have stripped bare,
The old skulls they still toss in their play.
But the tyrants are risen again,
And the last light dies from their path;
For the midnight of his mane
Lifts to the stars with his wrath.
From the East to the West he is crouching.
He snuffs at the North-East wind.
His breast upon Britain is couching.
His haunches quiver on Ind.
It is night, black night, where he lies;
But a kingdom and a fleet
Shall burn in his terrible eyes
When he leaps, and the darkness dies
With the War-gods under his feet.
_Till the day when a little child,
Shall lay but a hand on his mane,
And his eyes grow golden and mild
And he stands in the heavens again;
Till the day of the seventh seal,
Which the Lion alone shall rend,
When the stars from their courses reel,
His Freedom shall not end._
poem by Alfred Noyes
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Beautiful Twenty-Second
To Original Music
The people in this nation,
Have kept for many years,
February twenty-second,
That day we love it dear.
It's our forefather's birthday,
Brave, noble Washington;
And may we ever keep it,
Through all the years to come.
CHORUS:
Beautiful twenty-second,
Beautiful twenty-second,
May the people ever keep it,
Beautiful twenty-second.
One of the constitution builders,
Was that brave, noble man,
He fought under that dear flag
That's loved throughout our land.
He went through many battles,
He fought for liberty,
That this glorious republic
A nation great may be.
Chorus --
Oh, keep the twenty-second,
In honor to his name,
Who fought to gain our freedom
From England's British chains.
Now he is sweetly sleeping,
Brave, noble Washington,
May the people not forget him,
Columbia's noblest son.
poem by Julia A Moore
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