God said, I am tired of kings, I suffer them no more; Up to my ear the morning brings the outrage of the poor. Think ye I made this ball a field of havoc and war, Where tyrants great and tyrants small might harry the weak and poor'?
My angel,— his name is Freedom,—choose him to be your king; He shall cut pathways east and west, and fend you with his wing. Lo! I uncover the land which I hid of old time in the West, As the sculptor uncovers the statue when he has wrought his best. I will divide my goods; call in the wretch and slave: None shall rule but the humble, and none but Toil shall have. I will have never a noble, no lineage counted great; Fishers and choppers and ploughmen shall constitute a State. I cause from every creature his proper good to flow: As much as he is and doeth, so much he shall bestow.
For He that worketh high and wise, nor pauses in His plan. Will take the sun out of the skies ere freedom out of man.
Kings shook with fear, old empires crave the secret force to find Which fired the little State to save the rights of all mankind. Let the blood of her hundred thousands throb in each manly vein: And the wit of all her wisest make sunshine in her brain. And each shall care for other, and each to each shall bend, To the poor a noble brother, to the good an equal friend.
America: The Land of the Free and the Home of the Brave