John Greenleaf Whittier (1807–1892). The Poetical Works in Four Volumes. 1892.
At SundownThe Vow of Washington
T
Lay green the fields by Freedom won;
And severed sections, weary of debates,
Joined hands at last and were United States.
How proud the day that dawned on thee,
When the new era, long desired, began,
And, in its need, the hour had found the man!
The resonant bell-tower’s vibrant stroke,
The voiceful streets, the plaudit-echoing halls,
And prayer and hymn borne heavenward from St. Paul’s!
The strong throb of a nation’s heart,
As its great leader gave, with reverent awe,
His pledge to Union, Liberty, and Law!
That vow the sleep of centuries stirred;
In world-wide wonder listening peoples bent
Their gaze on Freedom’s great experiment.
And hopes deceived all history told.
Above the wrecks that strewed the mournful past,
Was the long dream of ages true at last?
The one man equal to his trust,
Wise beyond lore, and without weakness good,
Calm in the strength of flawless rectitude!
Made possible the world’s release;
Taught prince and serf that power is but a trust,
And rule, alone, which serves the ruled, is just;
In hate of fraud and selfish wrong,
Pretence that turns her holy truths to lies,
And lawless license masking in her guise.
Let thy great sisterhood rejoice;
A century’s suns o’er thee have risen and set,
And, God be praised, we are one nation yet.
Shall prove his hope was destiny,
Leaving our flag, with all its added stars,
Unrent by faction and unstained by wars.
And trained the new-set plant at first,
The widening branches of a stately tree
Stretch from the sunrise to the sunset sea.
Sitting with none to make afraid,
Were we now silent, through each mighty limb,
The winds of heaven would sing the praise of him.
Beneath his own Virginian sky.
Forgive, forget, O true and just and brave,
The storm that swept above thy sacred grave!
And dark hours of the nation’s life,
Through the fierce tumult pierced his warning word,
Their father’s voice his erring children heard!
In that sharp agony was wrought;
No partial interest draws its alien line
’Twixt North and South, the cypress and the pine!
His name shall be our Union-bond;
We lift our hands to Heaven, and here and now
Take on our lips the old Centennial vow.
Chooser and chosen both are powers
Equal in service as in rights; the claim
Of Duty rests on each and all the same.
Our banner floats in sun and air,
From the warm palm-lands to Alaska’s cold,
Repeat with us the pledge a century old!