To John C. Freemont
THY error, Frémont, simply was to act
A brave man's part, without the statesman's tact,
And, taking counsel but of common sense,
To strike at cause as well as consequence.
Oh, never yet since Roland wound his horn
At Roncesvalles, has a blast been blown
Far-heard, wide-echoed, startling as thine own,
Heard from the van of freedom's hope forlorn!
It had been safer, doubtless, for the time,
To flatter treason, and avoid offence
To that Dark Power whose underlying crime
Heaves upward its perpetual turbulence.
But if thine be the fate of all who break
The ground for truth's seed, or forerun their years
Till lost in distance, or with stout hearts make
A lane for freedom through the level spears,
Still take thou courage! God has spoken through thee,
Irrevocable, the mighty words, Be free!
The land shakes with them, and the slave's dull ear
Turns from the rice-swamp stealthily to hear.
Who would recall them now must first arrest
The winds that blow down from the free Northwest,
Ruffling the Gulf; or like a scroll roll back
The Mississippi to its upper springs.
Such words fulfil their prophecy, and lack
But the full time to harden into things.
poem by John Greenleaf Whittier
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Related quotes
The Fight For Freedom
There's a sound it┬┤s heard across the land
It's heard across the sea
You'll only hear it if you listen with your heart
And one day hope to be free
To hear the sound of freedom many gave their lives
They fought for you and me
Those memories will always live inside us
Now it's our time to be free
Where the eagles fly I will soon be there
If you want to come along with me my friend
Say the words and you'll be free
From the mountains to the sea
We'll fight for freedom again
So ring out loud for all the world to hear
From sea to shining sea
Let freedom ring and every man be king
To live as one through the years
Where the eagles fly I will soon be there
If you want to come along with me my friend
Say the words and you'll be free
From the mountains to the sea
We'll fight for freedom again
Now┬┤s the time we all must stand together
So raise your hands show them we are strong
Side by side the fight goes on forever
Marching to the battle with this song
Where the eagles fly I will soon be there
If you want to come along with me my friend
Say the words and you'll be free
From the mountains to the sea
We'll fight for freedom again
song performed by by Manowar from Warriors Of The World
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Land of the Free (c) 3-29-08
Land of the Free home of the brave
Land of disease home of the slave
Freedom of religion Freedom of speech
Freedom of press and freedom to breach
Freedom to steal freedom to take
Freedom to carry guns and Freedom to break
The laws of the man and the laws of the word
Freedom from peace but to still use the bird
The only home of brave and Land of the Free
The land who rules based off democracy
Freedom to starve and Freedom to be poor
Freedom to break and enter someone’s door
Freedom to lay off workers and close off jobs
Freedom to take what they want and to rob
Freedom of abortion Freedom of extortion
Freedom to own land and give everyone their portion
Freedom for action by any means necessary
But what their picture of that can really be scary
Freedom to wage war without our consent for our hours to be spent
Freedom to take our money then make us pay rent
Land of the prospering riches and of those who don’t care for the
People who live in the FREE old America
Copyright 3-29-08 ©® Corey Threet
PLEASE COMMENT!
poem by Corey Threet
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Australian Anthem
Maker of earth and sea,
What shall we render Thee?
All things are Thine!
Ours but from day to day
Still with one heart to pray,
“God bless our land alway,”
This land of Thine.
Mighty in brotherhood,
Mighty for God and good,
Let us be Thine.
Here let the nations see
Toil from the curse set free,
Labour and Liberty
One cause—and Thine.
Here let glad Plenty reign;
Here let none seek in vain
Our help and Thine—
No heart for want of friend
Fail ere the timely end,
But love for ever blend
Man's cause and Thine
Here let Thy peace abide;
Never may strife divide
This land of Thine.
Let us united stand,
One great Australian band,
Heart to heart, hand in hand,
Heart and hand Thine
Strong to defend our right,
Proud in all nations' sight,
Lowly in Thine—
One in all noble fame,
Still be our path the same,
Onward in Freedom's name,
Upward in Thine
poem by James Brunton Stephens
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To Massachusetts
WHAT though around thee blazes
No fiery rallying sign?
From all thy own high places,
Give heaven the light of thine!
What though unthrilled, unmoving,
The statesman stand apart,
And comes no warm approving
From Mammon's crowded mart?
Still, let the land be shaken
By a summons of thine own!
By all save truth forsaken,
Stand fast with that alone!
Shrink not from strife unequal!
With the best is always hope;
And ever in the sequel
God holds the right side up!
But when, with thine uniting,
Come voices long and loud,
And far-off hills are writing
Thy fire-words on the cloud;
When from Penobscot's fountains
A deep response is heard,
And across the Western mountains
Rolls back thy rallying word;
Shall thy line of battle falter,
With its allies just in view?
Oh, by hearth and holy altar,
My fatherland, be true!
Fling abroad thy scrolls of freedom!
Speed them onward far and fast!
Over hill and valley speed them,
Like the sibyl's on the blast!
Lo! The Empire State is shaking
The shackles from her hand;
With the rugged North is waking
The level sunset land!
On they come, the free battalions!
East and West and North they come,
And the heart-beat of the millions
Is the beat of Freedom's drum.
'To the tyrant's plot no favor!
No heed to place-fed knaves!
Bar and bolt the door forever
Against the land of slaves!'
Hear it, mother Earth, and hear it,
The heavens above us spread!
The land is roused, — its spirit
Was sleeping, but not dead!
poem by John Greenleaf Whittier
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Freedom...
Freedom...
Have you heard such a thing?
Freedom...
Is it a bird taking wing?
Freedom...
To a land far away,
Freedom...
Where everyone can play?
Freedom...
To be free from what you have done,
Freedom...
From the slave you have become?
Freedom...
To see the loved ones once again,
Freedom...
To let go of all this pain?
Freedom...
Have you heard such a thing?
poem by Claudia Lutz
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The Recaptured Slave
Woe to thee, tyrant! woe!
Does that white brow of thine which shows so fair
And the rich tint thy cheek is wont to wear,
Make thee the ruler of my destiny?
Or does thy blood more freely flow,
Than that which pours so madly now,
Along my burning veins—that thou should'st be
The favourite of fortune—proud and free—
And I should be thy slave—thy vassal?—no!
'T is true, I was thy slave—the power was thine—
And thou hadst made me such—through lingering years,
One weary task of ceaseless toil was mine,
Of servitude and tears—
But didst thou think no kindly glow,
Could warm my heart to joy or woe?
Mistaken fool! I heard thee name a name,
That rush'd like fire along my burning breast,
And from that instant there awoke a flame,
That ne'er has been, and ne'er shall be suppress'd—
I heard the glorious name of liberty!
And from that hour I panted to be free!
I had breathed on—not lived—in recklessness,
And idle dull submission to my fate;
But then the very sunbeams seem'd to press
Upon my senses, with a bitter weight—
As though they spake upbraidingly,
That all around me should be free,
And I should be so vile—that I should bow,
And tremble at the gathering of thy brow!
I once had loved the gushing mirth
Of the young spring—when bee, flower, bird,
And every thing upon the earth,
Seem'd fraught with joy—but now, one word,
One only word, came o'er my brain,
Again, again, again,
As if 't were scorch'd in characters of flame
And that one word was Freedom! all things seem'd
To shape their voices only to that name—
The wild bird's joyous song—the fish that gleam'd
Through the bright flood—the murmur of the wave—
Nay, even the breath of heaven—methought seem'd whispering, Slave!
I fled, and ere another set of sun,
My galling chains were broken—I was free!
A new, a bright existence was begun—
And my soul knew and felt its potency.
The voice of eve seem'd sweeter to my ears,
And all things brighter to my eye—till tears
From my full heart gush'd up tumultuously—
Wife, children, friends, were all forgotten—all—
I only felt that I was free from thrall.
'T is over now—and I once more am thine—
But thinkest thou that, having known the bliss—
That though one moment only has been mine,
I will live on in servitude like this,
And wear the chains of bondage? tyrant, no!
My blood be on thy head! woe rest upon thee, woe!
Art thou my master! then come ask the wave,
To give thee back thy slave!
poem by Elizabeth Margaret Chandler from Poetical Works (1836)
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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The Suliote Mother
She stood upon the loftiest peak,
Amidst the clear blue sky,
A bitter smile was on her cheek,
And a dark flash in her eye.
'Dost thou see then, boy?-through the dusky pines
Dost thou see where the foeman's armour shines?
Hast thou caught the gleam of the conqueror's crest?
My babe, that I cradled on my breast!
Wouldst thou spring from thy mother's arms with joy?
-That sight hath cost thee a father, boy!'
For in the rocky strait beneath,
Lay Suliote sire and son;
They had heap'd high the piles of death
Before the pass was won.
'They have cross'd the torrent, and on they come!
Woe for the mountain hearth and home!
There, where the hunter laid by his spear,
There, where the lyre hath been sweet to hear,
There, where I sang thee, fair babe! to sleep,
Nought but the blood-stain our trace shall keep!'
And now the horn's loud blast was heard,
And now the cymbal's clang,
Till ev'n the upper air was stirr'd,
As cliff and hollow rang.
'Hark! they bring music, my joyous child!
What saith the trumpet to Suli's wild!
Doth it light thine eye with so quick a fire,
As if at a glance of thine armed sire?
-Still!-be thou still!-there are brave men low-
Thou wouldst not smile couldst thou seem him now!'
But nearer came the clash of steel,
And louder swell'd the horn,
And farther yet the tambour's peal
Through the dark pass was borne.
'Hear'st thou the sound of their savage mirth?
-Boy! thou wert free when I gave thee birth,
Free, and how cherish'd, my warrior's son!
He too hath bless'd thee, as I have done!
Aye, and unchain'd must his lov'd ones be-
-Freedom, young Suliote! for thee and me!'
And from the arrowy peak she sprung,
And fast the fair child bore,
A veil upon the wind was flung,
A cry-and all was o'er!
poem by Felicia Dorothea Hemans
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To Pennsylvania
O STATE prayer-founded! never hung
Such choice upon a people's tongue,
Such power to bless or ban,
As that which makes thy whisper Fate,
For which on thee the centuries wait,
And destinies of man!
Across thy Alleghanian chain,
With groanings from a land in pain,
The west-wind finds its way:
Wild-wailing from Missouri's flood
The crying of thy children's blood
Is in thy ears to-day!
And unto thee in Freedom's hour
Of sorest need God gives the power
To ruin or to save;
To wound or heal, to blight or bless
With fertile field or wilderness,
A free home or a grave!
Then let thy virtue match the crime,
Rise to a level with the time;
And, if a son of thine
Betray or tempt thee, Brutus-like
For Fatherland and Freedom strike
As Justice gives the sign.
Wake, sleeper, from thy dream of ease,
The great occasion's forelock seize;
And let the north-wind strong,
And golden leaves of autumn, be
Thy coronal of Victory
And thy triumphal song.
poem by John Greenleaf Whittier
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The Song Of The Standard
Maiden most beautiful, mother most bountiful, lady of lands,
Queen and republican, crowned of the centuries whose years are thy sands,
See for thy sake what we bring to thee, Italy, here in our hands.
This is the banner thy gonfalon, fair in the front of thy fight,
Red from the hearts that were pierced for thee, white as thy mountains are white,
Green as the spring of thy soul everlasting, whose life-blood is light.
Take to thy bosom thy banner, a fair bird fit for the nest,
Feathered for flight into sunrise or sunset, for eastward or west,
Fledged for the flight everlasting, but held yet warm to thy breast.
Gather it close to thee, song-bird or storm-bearer, eagle or dove,
Lift it to sunward, a beacon beneath to the beacon above,
Green as our hope in it, white as our faith in it, red as our love.
Thunder and splendour of lightning are hid in the folds of it furled;
Who shall unroll it but thou, as thy bolt to be handled and hurled,
Out of whose lips is the honey, whose bosom the milk of the world?
Out of thine hands hast thou fed us with pasture of colour and song;
Glory and beauty by birthright to thee as thy garments belong;
Out of thine hands thou shalt give us as surely deliverance from wrong.
Out of thine eyes thou hast shed on us love as a lamp in our night,
Wisdom a lodestar to ships, and remembrance a flame-coloured light;
Out of thine eyes thou shalt shew us as surely the sun-dawn of right.
Turn to us, speak to us, Italy, mother, but once and a word,
None shall not follow thee, none shall not serve thee, not one that has heard;
Twice hast thou spoken a message, and time is athirst for the third.
Kingdom and empire of peoples thou hadst, and thy lordship made one
North sea and south sea and east men and west men that look on the sun;
Spirit was in thee and counsel, when soul in the nations was none.
Banner and beacon thou wast to the centuries of storm-wind and foam,
Ages that clashed in the dark with each other, and years without home;
Empress and prophetess wast thou, and what wilt thou now be, O Rome?
Ah, by the faith and the hope and the love that have need of thee now,
Shines not thy face with the forethought of freedom, and burns not thy brow?
Who is against her but all men? and who is beside her but thou?
Art thou not better than all men? and where shall she turn but to thee?
Lo, not a breath, not a beam, not a beacon from midland to sea;
Freedom cries out for a sign among nations, and none will be free.
England in doubt of her, France in despair of her, all without heart -
Stand on her side in the vanward of ages, and strike on her part!
Strike but one stroke for the love of her love of thee, sweet that thou art!
Take in thy right hand thy banner, a strong staff fit for thine hand;
Forth at the light of it lifted shall foul things flock from the land;
Faster than stars from the sun shall they fly, being lighter than sand.
Green thing to green in the summer makes answer, and rose-tree to rose;
Lily by lily the year becomes perfect; and none of us knows
What thing is fairest of all things on earth as it brightens and blows.
This thing is fairest in all time of all things, in all time is best -
Freedom, that made thee, our mother, and suckled her sons at thy breast;
Take to thy bosom the nations, and there shall the world come to rest.
poem by Algernon Charles Swinburne
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Dreyfus
France has no dungeon in her island tomb
So deep that she may hide injustice there;
The cry of innocence, despite her care,—
Despite her roll of drums, her cannon's boom,—
Is heard wherever human hearts have room
For sympathy: a sob upon the air,
Echoed and reëchoed everywhere,
It swells and swells, a prophecy of doom.
Thou latest victim of an ancient hate!
In agony so awfully alone,
The world forgets thee not, nor can forget:
Such martyrdom she feels to be her own,
And sees involved in thine her larger fate;
She questions, and thy foes shall answer yet.
poem by Florence Earle Coates from Mine and Thine (1904)
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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Rise Of The Enchanted
Enchanted words, and enchanted saying, enchanted words that has no meaning. Enchanted words that goes afar, enchanted saying that brings you to the stars. Rise of the enchanting is beautiful as my Lord, for it is as seeing into a woman's eyes, and love at first sight, everything is now on one accord. This is the freedom men as spoken of the freedom to be, enchanted with the mind for all to see. For as others have tried many have surpassed, the diverse mind that comes with many tests. What is the enchantment of which you so humbly speak, for it is freedom, the freedom of the meek. For I am enchanted but holding back I shall, until I show my true feelings for one I can appeal. I am enchanting and I am free, but not free to be, as tough it is my ecstasy, but I have the freedom, because freedom is free, but not enchanted I may not be, for to be free I have to be enchanted, because to be enchanted is to be free. May I be enchanted grant me thee, shall I be enchanted, shall I be free, for this is my rise, this is my plea, this is my enchantment I always wanted to see, the enchantment within me, my rise of enchanting, the enchantment for all to agree, because finally I am free.
poem by Augustus Gatlin
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Right On
Ho! children of the brave,
Ho! freemen of the land,
That hurl'd into the grave
Oppression's bloody band;
Come on, come on, and joined be we
To make the fettered bondman free.
Let coward vassals sneak
From freedom's battle still,
Poltroons that dare not speak
But as their priests may will;
Come on, come on, and joined be we
To make the fettered bondman free.
On parchment, scroll and creed,
With human life blood red,
Untrembling at the deed,
Plant firm your manly tread;
The priest may howl, the jurist rave,
But we will free the fettered slave.
The tyrant's scorn is vain,
In vain the slanderer's breath,
We'll rush to break the chain,
E'en on the jaws of death;
Hurrah! Hurrah! right on go we,
The fettered slave shall yet be free.
Right on, in freedom's name,
And in the strength of God,
Wipe out the damning stain,
And break the oppressor's rod;
Hurrah! Hurrah! right on go we,
The fettered slave shall yet be free.
poem by Anonymous Americas
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The Fallen Elm
Old elm that murmured in our chimney top
The sweetest anthem autumn ever made
And into mellow whispering calms would drop
When showers fell on thy many coloured shade
And when dark tempests mimic thunder made -
While darkness came as it would strangle light
With the black tempest of a winter night
That rocked thee like a cradle in thy root -
How did I love to hear the winds upbraid
Thy strength without - while all within was mute.
It seasoned comfort to our hearts' desire,
We felt that kind protection like a friend
And edged our chairs up closer to the fire,
Enjoying comfort that was never penned.
Old favourite tree, thou'st seen time's changes lower,
Though change till now did never injure thee;
For time beheld thee as her sacred dower
And nature claimed thee her domestic tree.
Storms came and shook thee many a weary hour,
Yet stedfast to thy home thy roots have been;
Summers of thirst parched round thy homely bower
Till earth grew iron - still thy leaves were green.
The children sought thee in thy summer shade
And made their playhouse rings of stick and stone;
The mavis sang and felt himself alone
While in thy leaves his early nest was made,
And I did feel his happiness mine own,
Nought heeding that our friendship was betrayed,
Friend not inanimate - though stocks and stones
There are, and many formed of flesh and bones.
Thou owned a language by which hearts are stirred
Deeper than by a feeling clothed in word,
And speakest now what's known of every tongue,
Language of pity and the force of wrong.
What cant assumes, what hypocrites will dare,
Speaks home to truth and shows it what they are.
I see a picture which thy fate displays
And learn a lesson from thy destiny;
Self-interest saw thee stand in freedom's ways -
So thy old shadow must a tyrant be.
Thou'st heard the knave, abusing those in power,
Bawl freedom loud and then oppress the free;
Thou'st sheltered hypocrites in many a shower,
That when in power would never shelter thee.
Thou'st heard the knave supply his canting powers
With wrong's illusions when he wanted friends;
That bawled for shelter when he lived in showers
And when clouds vanished made thy shade amends -
With axe at root he felled thee to the ground
And barked of freedom - O I hate the sound
Time hears its visions speak, - and age sublime
Hath made thee a disciple unto time.
- It grows the cant term of enslaving tools
To wrong another by the name of right;
Thus came enclosure - ruin was its guide,
But freedom's cottage soon was thrust aside
And workhouse prisons raised upon the site.
Een nature's dwellings far away from men,
The common heath, became the spoiler's prey;
The rabbit had not where to make his den
And labour's only cow was drove away.
No matter - wrong was right and right was wrong,
And freedom's bawl was sanction to the song.
- Such was thy ruin, music-making elm;
The right of freedom was to injure thine:
As thou wert served, so would they overwhelm
In freedom's name the little that is mine.
And there are knaves that brawl for better laws
And cant of tyranny in stronger power
Who glut their vile unsatiated maws
And freedom's birthright from the weak devour.
poem by John Clare
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Our Country
WE give thy natal day to hope,
O Country of our love and prayer!
Thy way is down no fatal slope,
But up to freer sun and air.
Tried as by furnace-fires, and yet
By God's grace only stronger made,
In future tasks before thee set
Thou shalt not lack the old-time aid.
The fathers sleep, but men remain
As wise, as true, and brave as they;
Why count the loss and not the gain?
The best is that we have to-day.
Whate'er of folly, shame, or crime,
Withhin thy mighty bounds transpires,
With speed defying space and time
Comes to us on the accusing wires;
While of thy wealth of noble deeds,
Thy homes of peace, thy votes unsold,
The love that pleads for human needs,
The wrong redressed, but half is told!
We read each felon's chronicle,
His acts, his words, his gallows-mood;
We know the single sinner well
And not the nine and ninety good.
Yet if, on daily scandals fed,
We seem at times to doubt thy worth,
We know thee still, when all is said,
The best and dearest spot on earth.
From the warm Mexic Gulf, or where
Belted with flowers Los Angeles
Basks in the semi-tropic air,
To where Katahdin's cedar trees
Are dwarfed and bent by Northern winds,
Thy plenty's horn is yearly filled;
Alone, the rounding century finds
Thy liberal soil by free hands tilled.
A refuge for the wronged and poor,
Thy generous heart has borne the blame
That, with them, through thy open door,
The old world's evil outcasts came.
But, with thy just and equal rule,
And labor's need and breadth of lands,
Free press and rostrum, church and school,
Thy sure, if slow, transforming hands
Shall mould even them to thy design,
Making a blessing of the ban;
And Freedom's chemistry combine
The alien elements of man.
The power that broke their prison bar
And set the dusky millions free,
And welded in the flame of war
The Union fast to Liberty,
Shall if not deal with other ills,
Redress the red man's grievance, break
The Circean cup which shames and kills
And Labor full requital make?
Alone to such as fitly bear
Thy civic honors bid them fall?
And call thy daughters forth to share
The rights and duties pledged to all?
Give every child his right of school,
Merge private greed in public good,
And spare a treasury overfull
The tax upon a poor man's food?
No lack was in thy primal stock,
No weakling founders builded here;
Thine were the men of Plymouth Rock,
The Huguenot and Cavalier;
And they whose firm endurance gained
The freedom of the souls of men,
Whose hands, unstained with blood, maintained
The swordless commonwealth of Penn.
And thine shall be the power of all
To do the work which duty bids,
And make the people's council hall
As lasting as the Pyramids!
Well have thy later years made good
Thy brave-said word a century back,
The pledge of human brotherhood,
The equal claim of white and black.
That word still echoes round the world,
And all who hear it turn to thee,
And read upon thy flag unfurled
The prophecies of destiny.
Thy great world-lesson all shall learn,
The nations in thy school shall sit,
Earth's farthest mountain-tops shall burn
With watch-fires from thy own uplit.
Great without seeking to be great
By fraud or conquest, rich in gold,
But richer in the large estate
Of virtue which thy children hold,
With peace that comes of purity
And strength to simple justice due,
So runs our loyal dream of thee;
God of our fathers! make it true.
O Land of lands! to thee we give
Our prayers, our hopes, our service free;
For thee thy sons shall nobly live,
And at thy need shall die for thee!
poem by John Greenleaf Whittier
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Hymn II
O HOLY FATHER! just and true
Are all Thy works and words and ways,
And unto Thee alone are due
Thanksgiving and eternal praise!
As children of Thy gracious care,
We veil the eye, we bend the knee,
With broken words of praise and prayer,
Father and God, we come to Thee.
For Thou hast heard, O God of Right,
The sighing of the island slave;
And stretched for him the arm of might,
Not shortened that it could not save.
The laborer sits beneath his vine,
The shackled soul and hand are free;
Thanksgiving! for the work is Thine!
Praise! for the blessing is of Thee!
And oh, we feel Thy presence here,
Thy awful arm in judgment bare!
Thine eye hath seen the bondman's tear;
Thine ear hath heard the bondman's prayer.
Praise! for the pride of man is low,
The counsels of the wise are naught,
The fountains of repentance flow;
What hath our God in mercy wrought?
Speed on Thy work, Lord God of Hosts!
And when the bondman's chain is riven,
And swells from all our guilty coasts
The anthem of the free to Heaven,
Oh, not to those whom Thou hast led,
As with Thy cloud and fire before,
But. unto Thee, in fear and dread,
Be praise and glory evermore.
poem by John Greenleaf Whittier
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Freedom
Oft through my native land I roved before,
But never such a cheerful spirit bore.
When on its mother's breast a child I spy--
Hope in my inmost heart doth secret cry,
'Boy, thou art born within a favoring time,
Thine eyes shall glad escape old sights of crime.
Free as a child, thou can'st prove all and be
The forger sole of thine own destiny.
Peasant remain,--as to thy father given--
Or like the eagle swing thyself to heaven!'
Castles in air I build! Man's spirit opes
To many ways to frustrate all my hopes.
Though serfdom's sad conditions left behind,
Yet there be countless snares of varied kind!--
Well! Although the people soon may rend thee,
Let me, oh Freedom, a welcome send thee!
poem by Nikolay Alekseyevich Nekrasov
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Psalm 89 part 2
v.7ff
C. M.
The power and majesty of God; or, Reverential worship.
With rev'rence let the saints appear,
And bow before the Lord;
His high commands with rev'rence hear,
And tremble at his word.
How terrible thy glories be!
How bright thine armies shine!
Where is the power that vies with thee,
Or truth compared to thine?
The northern pole and southern rest
On thy supporting hand;
Darkness and day, from east to west,
Move round at thy command.
Thy words the raging winds control,
And rule the boist'rous deep;
Thou mak'st the sleeping billows roll,
The rolling billows sleep.
Heav'n, earth, and air, and sea, are thine,
And the dark world of hell;
How did thine arm in vengeance shine
When Egypt durst rebel!
Justice and judgment are thy throne,
Yet wondrous is thy grace;
While truth and mercy, joined in one,
Invite us near thy face.
poem by Isaac Watts
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Were my bosom as false as thou deem'st it to be
I
Were my bosom as false as thou deem'st it to be,
I need not have wander'd from far Galilee;
It was but abjuring my creed to efface
The curse which, thou say'st, is the crime of my race.
II
If the bad never triumph, then God is with thee!
If the slave only sin, thou art spotless and free!
If the Exile on earth is an Outcast on high,
Live on in thy faith, but in mine I will die.
III
I have lost for that faith more than thou canst bestow,
As the God who permits thee to prosper doth know;
In his hand is my heart and my hope—and in thine
The land and the life which for him I resign.
poem by Byron from The Hebrew Melodies (1815)
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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Bande Mataram
Mother, I bow to thee!
Rich with thy hurrying streams,
Bright with thy orchard gleams,
Cool with thy winds of delight,
Dark fields waving, Mother of might,
Mother free.
Glory of moonlight dreams
Over thy branches and lordly streams,
Clad in thy blossoming trees,
Mother, giver of ease,
Laughing low and sweet!
Mother, I kiss thy feet,
Speaker sweet and low!
Mother, to thee I bow.
Who hath said thou art weak in thy lands,
When the swords flash out in twice seventy million hands
And seventy millions voices roar
Thy dreadful name from shore to shore?
With many strengths who art mighty and stored,
To thee I call, Mother and Lord!
Thou who savest, arise and save!
To her I cry who ever her foemen drave
Back from plain and sea
And shook herself free.
Thou art wisdom, thou art law,
Thou our heart, our soul, our breath,
Thou the love divine, the awe
In our hearts that conquers death.
Thine the strength that nerves the arm,
Thine the beauty, thine the charm.
Every image made divine
In our temples is but thine.
Thou art Durga, Lady and Queen,
With her hands that strike and her swords of sheen,
Thou art Lakshmi lotus-throned,
Pure and perfect without peer,
Mother, lend thine ear.
Rich with thy hurrying streams,
Bright with thy orchard gleams,
Dark of hue, O candid-fair
In thy soul, with jewelled hair
And thy glorious smile divine,
Loveliest of all earthly lands,
Showering wealth from well-stored hands!
Mother, mother mine!
Mother sweet, I bow to thee,
Mother great and free.
poem by Sri Aurobindo
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The Song of Freedom - A Prayer Reflection on Mee Kamocha
When did we leave Egypt
And when did Egypt leave us?
When were the chains of slavery broken
And when did we finally truly feel free?
Freedom came in steps
It was part of the journey
From Egypt to Canaan
Our people took
And we can still take.
Freedom is courage and hope and clear vision
Freedom is walking to places we can’t see
Freedom in knowing that we can find food in the desert
Freedom is feeling safe though our houses are booths.
Freedom is choosing good rules to live by
And freedom is singing our very own song.
So with Moses and Miriam and all those who went with them
With all those before us who brought us to today
We still sing these words, our first words of freedom
'Freedom is having no sovereign but God.”
10/12/2003
poem by Lewis Eron
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