Edmund Clarence Stedman, ed. (1833–1908). An American Anthology, 1787–1900. 1900.

By ArloBates

1053 America

FOR, O America, our country!—land

Hid in the west through centuries, till men

Through countless tyrannies could understand

The priceless worth of freedom,—once again

The world was new-created when thy shore

First knew the Pilgrim keels, that one last test

The race might make of manhood, nor give o’er

The strife with evil till it proved its best.

Thy true sons stand as torch-bearers, to hold

A guiding light. Here the last stand is made.

If we fail here, what new Columbus bold,

Steering brave prow through black seas unafraid,

Finds out a fresh land where man may abide

And freedom yet be saved? The whole round earth

Has seen the battle fought. Where shall men hide

From tyranny and wrong, where life have worth,

If here the cause succumb? If greed of gold

Or lust of power or falsehood triumph here,

The race is lost! A globe dispeopled, cold,

Rolled down the void a voiceless, lifeless sphere,

Were not so stamped by all which hope debars

As were this earth, plunging along through space

Conquered by evil, shamed among the stars,

Bearing a base, enslaved, dishonored race!

Here has the battle its last vantage ground;

Here all is won, or here must all be lost,

Here freedom’s trumpets one last rally sound;

Here to the breeze its blood-stained flag is tossed.

America, last hope of man and truth,

Thy name must through all coming ages be

The badge unspeakable of shame and ruth,

Or glorious pledge that man through truth is free.

This is thy destiny; the choice is thine

To lead all nations and outshine them all:

But if thou failest, deeper shame is thine,

And none shall spare to mock thee in thy fall.