Читать книгу Familiar Fields - Peter McArthur - Страница 9

Table of Contents

Our fathers toiled, but in a glorious fight,

The God of nations led them by the hand,

With pillared smoke by day and fire by night

They wrought like heroes in their Promised Land,

The wilderness was conquered by their might,

They made for God the marvel he had planned—

A land of homes where toil could make men free,

The final masterpiece of Destiny.

How can I rest when they will not be still?

When every wind is vocal and their sighs

Breathe to my ear from every funeral hill

And from each field where one forgotten lies?

They haunt my steps and burden me until

I plead with hands outstretched and streaming eyes:

"I am not worthy! Let my lips be dumb!

The mighty song and singer yet shall come!"

The well-greaved Greeks and Priam's savage brood

Were not more worthy of immortal song

Than these in homespun, who alone withstood

Hunger and Fear to make our Freedom strong;

But till the singer comes, at least the good

They wrought we must from age to age prolong:

Learning from them, let this our watchword be:

Free from all tyrants from yourselves be free!