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| O BROTHERS mine, to-day we stand | |
| Where half a century sweeps our ken, | |
| Since God, through Lincoln’s ready hand, | |
| Struck off our bonds and made us men. | |
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| Just fifty years—a winter’s day— | 5 |
| As runs the history of a race; | |
| Yet, as we look back o’er the way, | |
| How distant seems our starting place! | |
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| Look farther back! Three centuries! | |
| To where a naked, shivering score, | 10 |
| Snatched from their haunts across the seas, | |
| Stood, wild-eyed, on Virginia’s shore. | |
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| This land is ours by right of birth, | |
| This land is ours by right of toil; | |
| We helped to turn its virgin earth, | 15 |
| Our sweat is in its fruitful soil. | |
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| Where once the tangled forest stood,— | |
| Where flourished once rank weed and thorn,— | |
| Behold the path-traced, peaceful wood, | |
| The cotton white, the yellow corn. | 20 |
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| To gain these fruits that have been earned, | |
| To hold these fields that have been won, | |
| Our arms have strained, our backs have burned, | |
| Bent bare beneath a ruthless sun. | |
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| That Banner which is now the type | 25 |
| Of victory on field and flood— | |
| Remember, its first crimson stripe | |
| Was dyed by Attucks’ willing blood. | |
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| And never yet has come the cry— | |
| When that fair flag has been assailed— | 30 |
| For men to do, for men to die, | |
| That we have faltered or have failed. | |
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| We’ve helped to bear it, rent and torn, | |
| Through many a hot-breath’d battle breeze | |
| Held in our hands, it has been borne | 35 |
| And planted far across the seas. | |
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| And never yet,—O haughty Land, | |
| Let us, at least, for this be praised— | |
| Has one black, treason-guided hand | |
| Ever against that flag been raised. | 40 |
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| Then should we speak but servile words, | |
| Or shall we hang our heads in shame? | |
| Stand back of new-come foreign hordes, | |
| And fear our heritage to claim? | |
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| No! stand erect and without fear, | 45 |
| And for our foes let this suffice— | |
| We’ve bought a rightful sonship here, | |
| And we have more than paid the price. | |
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| And yet, my brothers, well I know | |
| The tethered feet, the pinioned wings, | 50 |
| The spirit bowed beneath the blow, | |
| The heart grown faint from wounds and stings; | |
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| The staggering force of brutish might, | |
| That strikes and leaves us stunned and dazed; | |
| The long, vain waiting through the night | 55 |
| To hear some voice for justice raised. | |
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| Full well I know the hour when hope | |
| Sinks dead, and ’round us everywhere | |
| Hangs stifling darkness, and we grope | |
| With hands uplifted in despair. | 60 |
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| Courage! Look out, beyond, and see | |
| The far horizon’s beckoning span! | |
| Faith in your God-known destiny! | |
| We are a part of some great plan. | |
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| Because the tongues of Garrison | 65 |
| And Phillips now are cold in death, | |
| Think you their work can be undone? | |
| Or quenched the fires lit by their breath? | |
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| Think you that John Brown’s spirit stops? | |
| That Lovejoy was but idly slain? | 70 |
| Or do you think those precious drops | |
| From Lincoln’s heart were shed in vain? | |
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| That for which millions prayed and sighed, | |
| That for which tens of thousands fought, | |
| For which so many freely died, | 75 |
| God cannot let it come to naught. | |
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