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rivers of
Babylon they yearned for the land of their nativity and the home of their fathers.
If I forget thee, O Jerusalem, let my right hand forget her cunning; if I do not remember thee, let my tongue cleave to the roof of my mouth, if I prefer not Jerusalem above my chief joy.
In the light of the magnificent memories that cluster around her name and over the dust of her patriot dead, let this be the desire of our hearts for her:
Oh! give me the State where the ruins are spread,
And the living tread light on the hearts of the dead;
Yes, give me the State that is blest by the dust,
And bright with the deeds of the down-trodden just;
Yes, give me the State that has legends and lays,
Enshrining the memory of long-vanished days;
Yes, give me the State that hath story and song,
To tell of the strife of the right and the wrong;
Yes, give me the State with a grave in each spot,
And names in the graves that shall not be forgot;
Yes, give me the State of the wreck and the tomb,
There's a grandeur in graves, there's a glory in gloom;
For out of the gloom future brightness is born,
And after the night looms the sunrise of morn,
And the graves of the dead with the grass overgrown,
May yet form the footstool of liberty's throne;
And each single wreck in the warpath of might,
Shall yet be a stone in the temple of right.
