Mac
In every little country place, all up and down the land,
From ageing cradles of the race to Never-Never Land
From the towns about the cities to the little towns out back,
There dwells a man of all trades; and he's mostly known as 'Mac.'
He's dwelt there since the Lord knows when and never seems to die;
And everybody, now and then, when his present job is thro' -
And twenty other little jobs that he has still to do.
A plumbing job, a painting job, a bit of fence to mend;
They want him in a hurry; and he's everybody's friend.
Kettle-mending, carpentry, a bit of scrub to cut -
There's nothing comes amiss to him - a door that will not shut,
A safe that will not open, or a roof that hangs askew,
A plough to mend, a pump to tend - there's nothing he can't do.
He has never learned a single trade, yet somehow has the knack;
And, no matter what the trouble is, it's safe to send for 'Mac.'
He never makes much money, yet he never seems to care,
Tho' a dozen jobs await him, he has heaps of time to spare -
A friendly yarn, a cup of tea, a piece of sage advice,
He's willing for them every day, and never counts the price
Of half an hour or half a day spent in a neighbor's need.
He sells his toil, but not his time. For what is time, indeed,
Save for a man to labor in just as he feels inclined?
So, if Smith's job amuses him, Brown's job can lag behind.
In every little country place he's known, or once was known,
Ere the urge that men call Progress claimed the broad earth for its own,
When man found pride in labor and the cunning of his hand,
Nor set a price in money on the arts he could command.
And many a little country place with pride today can show
Some sturdy structure 'built by 'Mac' nigh fifty year ago.'
Oh, they jerry-built their palaces; but many a stout bush shack
Shall stand to honor workmanship of that proud workman, 'Mac.'
poem by Clarence Michael James Stanislaus Dennis
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Related quotes
The Farmer's Lament
'The backbone of the country and the salt of all the earth'
That was how they styled us when the farmer had his worth.
But what's his valuation now, when times are pretty thin?
Chorus:
Two bob a dozen, an' the garments given in.
Solo:
We made the country's money an' we paid the country's way,
We raised the wealth for cities from the farm thro' many a day;
But what's the price of farmers now the profits disappeared?
Chorus:
Two bob a dozen, an' a bonus on the beard.
Solo:
They'll pay to patch machinery or cure old Dobbin's sprain;
But they cannot spare a stiver when the farmer gets a pain;
For what's the use o' mendin' him when all he's valued at
Chorus:
Is two bob a dozen, if he's nice an' prime an' fat.
Solo:
But the farmer ain't repinin', tho' his price is down an' out.
There's a good time comin' soon without the smallest doubt;
But, till the world wins sanity, he's got to be content
Chorus:
With two bob a dozen, cash with order ten per cent.
poem by Clarence Michael James Stanislaus Dennis
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Whose Country Is This?
Whose country is this?
It is a land full of snakes;
Whose country is this?
It is a land full of many waters;
Whose country is this?
It is a land full of thieves! !
Whose country is this?
It is a land full of people;
Whose country is this?
It is a land full of oil;
Whose country is this?
It is a land full of earthquakes!
Whose country is this?
it is a land full of lovers;
Whose country is this?
It is a land full of volcanoes!
Whose country is this?
It is a land full of beautiful flowers;
Whose country is this?
It is a land full of hansome men;
Whose country is this?
It is a land full of beautiful women;
Whose country is this?
It is a land full of roses;
Whose country is this?
it is a land ruled only by men;
Whose country is this?
It is a land without rainfall;
Whose country is this?
It is a land ruled by a woman;
Whose country is this?
It is a land full of corruption!
Whose country is this?
It is a land full of pirates! !
Whose country is this?
It is a land ruled by law;
Whose country is this?
It is a land controlled by rebels!
Whose country is this?
It is a land full of ice;
Whose country is this?
It is a land full of pregnant women;
Whose country is this?
It is a land full of the sins of Sodom and Gomorrah!
Whose country is this?
It is a land full of singers;
Whose country is this?
It is a land full of troubles;
Whose country is this?
It is a land full of war! !
Whose country is this?
It is a land with the biggest cemetery in the wolrd!
Whose country is this?
It is a land full of desert;
Whose country is this?
It is a land full of trees;
Whose country is this?
It is a land full of pregnant teenagers!
Whose country is this?
It is a land full of timber;
Whose country is this?
It is a land full of hatred;
Whose country is this?
It is a land full of love;
Whose country is this?
It is a land full of care;
Whose country is this?
It is a land full of peace;
Whose country is this?
It is a land full of smokers!
Whose country is this?
It is a land full of businesses;
Whose country is this?
It is a land full of harlots;
Whose country is this?
It is a land full of wise people;
Whose country is this?
It is a land full of idiots!
Whose country is this?
It is a land full of gold;
Whose country is this?
It is a land full of cocoa;
Whose country is this?
It is a alnd full of crabs;
Whose country is this?
It is a land full of evil;
Whose country is this?
It is a land full of rainfalls;
Whose country is this?
It is a land full of ants;
Whose country is this?
It is a land full of horses;
Whose country is this?
It is a land full of pigs;
Whose country is this?
It is a land full of statues;
Whose country is this?
it is a land full of birds;
And so on, and so forth!
Because nature had made them so as we see them around us,
But the wise and fool live together on this earth.
poem by Edward Kofi Louis
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Tired Old Country Song
Regi price/jl vanderford
Another day, another night
Another tired old country song
You know, I sing of love delight
But I know its all wrong
The life I live out on the road
Is one I swear no one could love
Yet I feel I must go on
And sing this tired
This tired old country song
I move around from place to place
But all the towns look just the same
I see the same old face
Losin still my claim to fame
Ill sing the guitar blues
Drink my drink and pay the dues
Then I guess Ill ramble on
And sing this tired
This tired old country song
Why did I have to compromise
To reach my piece of the fame?
Life could have been so different
In that eight to five game
So I guess Ill settle down
Get my feet back on the ground
Once a country star
Now Im just a country clown
Hang my guitar on the wall
I wont need it anymore
For I think the time has come
To end this tired
This tired old country song
To end this tired
This tired old country song
song performed by by Roy Orbison
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!
The Old Place
SO the last day’s come at last, the close of my fifteen year—
The end of the hope, an’ the struggles, an’ messes I’ve put in here.
All of the shearings over, the final mustering done,—
Eleven hundred an’ fifty for the incoming man, near on.
Over five thousand I drove ’em, mob by mob, down the coast;
Eleven-fifty in fifteen year…it isn’t much of a boast.
Oh, it’s a bad old place! Blown out o’ your bed half the nights,
And in the summer the grass burnt shiny an’ bare as your hand, on the heights:
The creek dried up by November, and in May a thundering roar
That carries down toll o’ your stock to salt ’em whole on the shore.
Clear’d I have, and I’ve clear’d an’ clear’d, yet everywhere, slap in your face,
Briar, tauhinu, 1 an’ ruin! God! it’s a brute of a place.
…An’ the house got burnt which I built, myself, with all that worry and pride;
Where the Missus was always homesick, and where she took fever, and died.
Yes, well! I’m leaving the place. Apples look red on that bough.
I set the slips with my own hand. Well—they’re the other man’s now.
The breezy bluff: an’ the clover that smells so over the land,
Drowning the reek o’ the rubbish, that plucks the profit out o’ your hand:
That bit o’ Bush paddock I fall’d myself, an’ watch’d, each year, come clean
(Don’t it look fresh in the tawny? A scrap of Old-Country green):
This air, all healthy with sun an’ salt, an’ bright with purity:
An’ the glossy karakas 2 there, twinkling to the big blue twinkling sea:
Aye, the broad blue sea beyond, an’ the gem-clear cove below,
Where the boat I’ll never handle again; sits rocking to and fro:
There’s the last look to it all! an’ now for the last upon
This room, where Hetty was born, an’ my Mary died, an’ John…
Well! I’m leaving the poor old place, and it cuts as keen as a knife;
The place that’s broken my heart—the place where I’ve lived my life.
poem by Blanche Edith Baughan
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
South Africa Is Also My Country
From my birth South Africa is my own country
and my people can flee to an island
but my own culture and language stays holy
although this place is not safe,
I still trust on a much higher hand,
from my birth South Africa is my own country.
From my birth South Africa is my own country
even if the struggling government gives me resistance,
do oppress me with unfair laws,
even if nothing can stop the disintegration,
even if I am not safe against the onslaught,
from my birth South Africa is my own country.
From my birth South Africa is my own country,
even if some act with effrontery against my people
I come from a noble heritage,
I am proud on my Afrikaner lineage,
even if people and buildings are set alight,
from my birth South Africa is my own country.
From my birth South Africa is my own country
with no other place I have such a deep bond
and even if here I will never have any job,
I believe in God and a Christian church,
God himself still keeps my ways intact,
from my birth South Africa is my own country.
poem by Gert Strydom
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Nigeria
Nigeria, Nigeria, Nigeria
The best country in the area
The country where cultures reign
Just to bring pride to the heart that preys
Nigeria, Nigeria, Nigeria
The home where my pride lays
Nigeria, Nigeria, Nigeria
The country only to pay
Through all pain and suffering
It's still a country that's loving
Through the hard time jorneys
It's still the country with hidden moneys
The 'Buba' we put on
Is alwayz the prize of the father zone
The 'Shokoto' we wear
Is alwayz the pride that the village owns
How could I forget my country
The country that pays my dowry
How could I forget my country
The country that's filled with honey
Though, there is not much overwhelming riches
We have happiness that the body wishes
Though, we battle days with a lot of wishes
It's alwayz the best place of wisdom riches
Have you ever being to our parties?
Where it's filled with happys
Have you ever being to our gatherings?
Where it's filled with money sharing.
Aren't too connected with mordern medicine
But we have a secret weapon of true legacy
Though, there is no core science
We have the best herb technology that ever hence
Nigeria, Nigeria, Nigeria
The dearest home in the area
Nigeria, Nigeria, Nigeria
How could I forget the place of my interior.
poem by Olufunmbi Aransiola
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Kerry, in memoriam
`
take him home to Ellerston
there to rest, proud heart and soul
sultry rhythm, bushland hearth
beloved sunburnt country
just another day in the bush
life rolls on like a country song
paean to the homeland south
rays bounce off yon coffin sheen
life does go on without you
your neighbor's cattle wander
stray across funeral march
Mackellar's words guide our steps:
'Though earth holds many splendours,
wherever I may die,
I know to what brown country
My homing thoughts will fly....'
out in blistering open land
rest at last o learned hand
so ends one life's longest day
mem'ries now forever stay
`
poem by Frederick Kesner
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
I Am Not Proud Of My Country
I love my Homeland Country and of it's scenic sights I sing
But I don't say I am proud to be Irish as proud has a patriotic ring
And those who feel proud of their Country often go that step too far
As pride leads to patriotism and patriotism leads to war.
I have never waved my Country's flag at parade or football game
And I am not Proud of my country though I love it just the same
For pride and love are different as different as can be
And pride that leads to patriotism has never appealed to me.
Some people on flag post in their front yard fly their Country's flag
And I am proud of my Country you hear them proudly brag
But others worthiness and cultures they never could embrace
And without saying so they are telling you that ours is a superior race.
I am proud of my Country you will never hear me say
Though many feel that pride and patriotism are good and quite okay
But how many young men have died in wars due to patriotic pride
Love brings people together whilst pride and patriotism divide.
I have never been a soldier or had honours to my name
And I am not Proud of my Country though I love it just the same
And those who feel proud of their Country can take that step too far
For pride leads to patriotism and patriotism can lead to war.
poem by Francis Duggan
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Crossroads
When first I did appear upon this native soil
All up and down this country at labor I did toil
I slumbered in the moonlight and I rose with the sun
I rambled through the canyons where the cold rivers run
When first I did come down where the land meets the sea
The people said who are you and what would your name be
I said I have no home and I am no mans son
twas inland I was born and from inland that I come
In the good land I was young and I was strong
No one dared to call me son
Happy just to see my days work done
See my days work done
So I swung an axe as a timberjack
And I worked the Quebec mines
And on the golden prairie I rode the big combines
I sailed the maritime waters of many a seaport town
Built the highways and the byways to the western salmon grounds
Ive gazed upon the good times Ive seen the bad times too
Felt many a cold and bitter wind and many a mornin dew
Ive watched the country growin like a fair and mighty thing
And on the still of a summer night Ive heard the mountains ring
In the good land I was young and I was strong
No one dared to call me son
Happy just to see my days work done
See my days work done
But now the seeds are planted and the gates are open wide
The old ways are forgotten theres no place left to hide
And the legacy Im leavin you is not very hard to find
Youll see it all around you at this crossroads of time
In the sweet soil its a-growin at the crossroads of time
song performed by by Gordon Lightfoot
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!
Forty Hour Week
forty hour week (for a livin')
There are people in this country who work hard every day.
Not for fame or fortune do they strive.
But the fruits of their labor are worth more than their pay.
And it's time a few of them were recognized.
Hello detroit auto workers, let me thank you for your time.
You work a forty hour week for a livin', just to send it on down the line.
Hello pittsburgh steel mill workers, let me thank you for your time.
You work a forty hour week for a livin', just to send it on down the line.
This is for the one who swings the hammer, driving home the nail.
Or the one behind the counter, ringing up the sale.
Or the one who fights the fires, the one who brings the mail.
For everyone who works behind the scenes.
You can see them every morning in the factories and the fields.
In the city streets and the quiet country towns.
Working together like spokes inside a wheel.
They keep this country turning around.
Hello kansas wheat field farmer, let me thank you for your time.
You work a forty hour week for a livin', just to send it on down the line.
Hello west virginia coal miner, let me thank you for your time.
You work a forty hour week for a livin', just to send it on down the line.
This one is for the one who drives the big rig, up and down the road.
Or the one out in the warehouse, bringing in the load.
Or the waitress, the mechanic, the policeman on patrol.
For everyone who works behind the scenes.
With a spirit you can't replace with no machine.
Hello, america,
Let me thank you for your time.
song performed by by Alabama
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!
Gone Country
Shes been playing in a room on a strip
For ten years in vegas
Every night she looks in the mirror
But she only ages
Shes been reading about nashville and all
The records that everybodys buying
Says Im a simple girl myself
Grew up on long island
So she packs her bags to try her hand
Says this might be my last chance
Shes gone country, look at them boots
Shes gone country, back to her roots
Shes gone country, a new kind of suit
Shes gone country, here she comes
Well the folk scene is dead
But hes holding out in the village
Hes been writing songs speaking out
Against wealth and privilege
He says i dont believe in money
But a man could make him a killin
Cause some of that stuff dont sound
Much different than dylan
I hear down there its changed you see
Theyre not as backwards as they used to be
Hes gone country, look at them boots
Hes gone country, back to his roots
Hes gone country, a new kind of suit
Hes gone country, here he comes
He commutes to la
But hes got a house in the valley
But the bills are piling up
And the pop scene just aint on the rally
He says honey Im a serious composer
Schooled in voice and composition
But with the crime and the smog these days
This aint no place for children
Lord it sounds so easy it shouldnt take long
Be back in the money in no time at all
Hes gone country, look at them boots
Hes gone country, back to his roots
Hes gone country, a new kind of suit
Hes gone country, here he comes
Yeah hes gone country, a new kind of walk
Hes gone country, a new kind of talk
Hes gone country, look at them boots
Hes gone country, oh back to his roots
Hes gone country
Hes gone country
Everybodys gone country
Yeah weve gone country
The whole worlds gone country
song performed by by Alan Jackson
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!
Centennial Celebration
In the year eighteen seventy-six,
A Fourth of July celebration
Was held in Grand Rapids city
In honor to our nation.
The largest city in the county of Kent,
Is this city, and it is respected,
For thousands of people was here to see
The beautiful arch erected.
The Centennial arch on Campau Place
Was the most principal feature;
It was a grand beautiful sight
To all human sensitive creatures;
To all the people that loved to read
The mottoes on it painted,
The engravings, too, and tell
What each one represented.
The paintings and mottoes on the arch
Was viewed by many people;
It was Colonel Joseph Penney's design,
And his work could not be equalled.
Mr. C. H. Gifford was architect,
He formed the noble structure,
A memento to the Centennial year,
A pride of our nation's culture.
A cabin was built, too, I believe,
That nicely represented
One that the traders built years ago,
This was the only one invented.
Ten thousand people respected it,
This token of early years, with pay;
The honor of this little hut
Was due to Mr. Godfroy.
The stars and stripes was honored, too,
For from a thousand windows waving,
That dear old flag, red, white and blue,
That's loved throughout our nation:
That same flag for one hundred years
Has waved over our nation;
May God let it forever wave
Over our Union celebration.
The people in the city, friends,
Was an honor to our nation,
For they all joined heart and hand
In our Union celebration.
Some gave money, other labor,
To maintain what was intended.
It was a success, some people said,
Who here that day attended.
That day will never be forgot
By the people of Kent county,
God bless the people who joined that day
In the honor of our country.
The people in the city, friends,
Dearly loved this nation,
For they saved no time or expense
In our Centennial celebration.
poem by Julia A Moore
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Give yourself a Show: New Year's Eve
TO my fellow sinners all, who, in hope and doubt,
Through the Commonwealth to-night watch the Old Year out,
New Year’s Resolutions are jerry-built I know,
But I want to say to you, “Give yourselves a show”.
You who drink for drinking’s sake, love for lust alone,
Thinking heaven is a myth and the world your own—
Dancing gaily down to hell in the devil’s dance—
This I have to say to you: “Give your souls a chance”.
You who drink because of shame that you think will last,
Or because of wrong done you—trouble in the past—
“Nothing left to live for now,” you will say, I know;
But you have your own self yet, give that self a show!
You who want all things on earth—money, love, and fame
Having the advantage of worldly place or name—
You who have more than you want, even than you know,
In the glorious New Year give someone else a show.
You, the mischief-makers all, who in secret glee
Love to tell the villainies of a scamp like me;
There are things he’ll never tell—things you’ll never know—
Look into your own lives first—give the man a show.
You, the politician, who, for jealousy or gold,
Or for mean ambition, sell, or see your country sold,
Pandering to the hollow crowd, toadying to the low,
For shame’s sake banish selfishness—give your land a show.
poem by Henry Lawson
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Bright Sunny Day
If you wake up in the morning light
Something doesn't seem
or know is right
Lay back and let your feeling show
Come on and let the people know
Oh, that's the price that you pay
Oh, that's the price that you pay.
Just ?? money
Your baby ??
??
Now come on boys,??
Oh, that's the price that you pay
Oh, that's the price that you pay.
Oh, that's the price that you pay
Oh, that's the price that you pay.
Bad news is just an excuse
Get down and
let yourself keep loose
Go on and live for tomorrow
So much spent today in sorrow
Oh, that's the price that you pay
Oh, that's the price that you pay.
song performed by by Neil Young
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!
Equality... (In A Word)
equality...
in a word,
no more talk of
the 'land of the free'.
you founded this country
over the scattered bones
of 100,000,000 Native Americans.
built this country
on the backs of
African-American slaves,
and poor Scotch-Irish refugees,
who turned your earth,
and built your homes.
'give me your tired, your poor...'
more cheap labor?
to build your cities,
your railroads, work your steel.
how many faceless bodies buried
in your cold dark mines?
how many second class young men
sent off to war?
how many women paid less,
treated as less?
how many farmworker immigrants
paid too little,
treated like trash?
how many slum children
sent off to prison?
how many lives sold off
for bottom line profit?
disembodied jobless,
driven from their homes?
how many minimum wage slaves
praying for food stamps?
how many 'cant afford an education'
futures written in stone?
how many sparrows on the fence?
you want to honor those who've served?
all of these,
the people who have served you!
who have met your needs!
Memorial Day, an epitaph!
poem by Eric Cockrell
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
In the field
To walk or not to walk out of the filed should be dilemma
Not to create unruly scene, show off or any kind of drama
It has to be clear sportsmanship to play for the country
Respect in the entire manner without caring for records or money
You gain fame and status in the filed
Money and name along with innumerable yield
Yet the country may take highest honor with pride
You got to be exemplary with all the temptations to hide
It is disgrace if you walk out in protest
It is not you as an individual but country's name are put to test
Nothing should be done to malign the fair name
Name and fame will be of no use if mother land is put to shame
No award is acceptable at the cost of national dishonor
The flag must fly high and show its true color
It will speak of great ideals and total commitment
Towards world cause with integral movement
So anybody who is representing the symbol
Must rise above all and respond to clear call
It is not the defeat or wins but national pride
Upon whose waves we can make positive ride
poem by Hasmukh Amathalal
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
The Price That You Pay
If you wake up in the morning light
Something doesnt seem or know is right
Lay back and let your feeling show
Come on and let the people know
Oh, thats the price that you pay
Oh, thats the price that you pay.
Just ____________________ money
Your baby _______________________
________________________________
Now come on boys, ________________
Oh, thats the price that you pay
Oh, thats the price that you pay.
Oh, thats the price that you pay
Oh, thats the price that you pay.
Bad news is just an excuse
Get down and let yourself keep loose
Go on and live for tomorrow
So much spent today in sorrow
Oh, thats the price that you pay
Oh, thats the price that you pay.
song performed by by Neil Young
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!
A Day For Thanksgiving
Today we celebrate a proclamation, to thank our Gracious Lord and God.
To thank Him all across this nation, throughout this blessed land we trod.
And we thank Him for our Salvation, while with humbled hearts we nod.
We’re set apart through Sanctification, and led by Christ’s staff and rod.
Our country’s blessed in many ways, through The Lord’s Amazing Grace.
A Grace that sustains all our days, and across all this land in every place.
It is to The Lord we give our praise, while we also humbly seek His face.
For to that land that humbly prays, God shall continue His Loving Grace.
For us this country is a land of plenty, supplied by The Loving Lord above.
He reaches down while guiding many, with His awesome Grace and Love.
And God can meet the needs of any, fitting them just like a hand in glove.
So when blessed in a land of plenty, it should be God you’re thinking of.
Our Thanksgiving Day had its start, through the decision of just one man.
It is just one day that is set apart, to express thanks throughout our land.
And thankfulness is at the heart, as we acknowledge God’s Loving Hand.
Thanks each day we should impart, until all men truly come to understand.
Our country’s birth and every nation, is conceived by our Sovereign God,
Who alone deserves all men’s praise, for His sustaining and loving Grace.
A Grace that reaches down to many, drawing them to Christ and His Love,
Until He touches every single heart, of every single man upon every land.
(Copyright ©11/2005)
When A Soul Cries
When your soul takes fright and you can't see the light,
When you hide in that dark place behind your eyes,
Where you can't hear their lies,
When this is the only safe place to cry,
This is when you are close to the end,
This when you are your only friend,
Now it is too late for your heart to mend,
Now even your iron will, ......will bend,
But if you feel like you are dead,
Then there is one thing left to be said,
When your heart opens up then you must know,
Somewhere in the universe your other half will glow,
If you close your heart now then you seal another's fate,
Try to find a way to stay afloat before it is too late,
A thousand miles in a blink of an eye,
Before you make your other half cry,
If we could only see the colors of our energy,
We would all learn how to be free,
Rainbows from heart to heart,
Love is always the best place to start!
Wipe your tears away now, friend,
Somehow your heart will mend,
We all feel each others pain,
So there is really no one to blame.
8 October 2012
poem by David Andre' Klopper
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
One Country
ONE country! Treason's writhing asp
Struck madly at her girdle's clasp,
And Hatred wrenched with might and main
To rend its welded links in twain,
While Mammon hugged his golden calf
Content to take one broken half,
While thankless churls stood idly by
And heard unmoved a nation's cry!
One country! 'Nay,'--the tyrant crew
Shrieked from their dens,--'it shall be two!
Ill bodes to us this monstrous birth,
That scowls on all the thrones of earth,
Too broad yon starry cluster shines,
Too proudly tower the New-World pines,
Tear down the 'banner of the free,'
And cleave their land from sea to sea!'
One country still, though foe and 'friend'
Our seamless empire strove to rend;
Safe! safe' though all the fiends of hell
Join the red murderers' battle-yell!
What though the lifted sabres gleam,
The cannons frown by shore and stream,--
The sabres clash, the cannons thrill,
In wild accord, One country still!
One country! in her stress and strain
We heard the breaking of a chain!
Look where the conquering Nation swings
Her iron flail,--its shivered rings!
Forged by the rebels' crimson hand,
That bolt of wrath shall scourge the land
Till Peace proclaims on sea and shore
One Country now and evermore!
poem by Oliver Wendell Holmes
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!