6. my country.
For the purity and glory that has gathered round thy fame;
For the ancient blood-bought altars, where the fires of Freedom burn,
Enkindled from the ashes of each Pilgrim Father's urn:
I tremble, O my country! lest the lamp that flamed of yore,
And lit thy crown of radiance, shall burn for thee no more.
Are there not spirits brave, among the sons of patriot sires,
To stand beside these menaced shrines and guard the sacred fires?
Shall Justice no true champions find? shall Tyranny take down
From Freedom's light-encircled brow her star-enameled crown?
It cannot be — I'll not believe that Truth has fought in vain,
And left thee, O my country! with a deeper, viler stain.
And yet I live so anxiously! as mothers watch and fear,
When Death seems almost hovering around the loved and dear;
Or, as a maiden on the beach, stands with a shuddering form,
And knows the one light of her life, is perilled in the storm;
As fearfully and tenderly, my country, tempest tost,
I watch in pained suspense to learn if thou art saved or lost.
Yet, what may Woman do for thee! her voice may not be heard,
To rouse the apathetic mind with soul-impassioned word;
Her small hand was not formed to aid the fearful battle throng,
Howe'er her heart may burn and bleed for all her country's wrong;
Yet, there's a power, all these above — she may in meekness wear,
And wield in humble majesty — the matchless power of Prayer.
Deem it not weak, my country! this aid we bring to thee,
For thy tried and worthy rulers, for their firm integrity;
By the fervent prayers of Woman, by the glory that is shed
Around the memory of those who for thy honor bled,
I charge thee, O my Country! by thy pilgrim-hallowed sod
Be thou true, and be thou faithful, to Freedom and to God!