SUNG IN THE TOWN HALL, CONCORD, JULY 4, 1857

O tenderly the haughty day
        Fills his blue urn with fire;
One morn is in the mighty heaven,
        And one in our desire.

The cannon booms from town to town,
        Our pulses beat not less,
The joy-bells chime their tidings down,
        Which children's voices bless.

For He that flung the broad blue fold
        O'er-mantling land and sea,
One third part of the sky unrolled
        For the banner of the free.

The men are ripe of Saxon kind
        To build an equal state,—
To take the statute from the mind
        And make of duty fate.

United States! the ages plead,—
         Present and Past in under-song,—
Go put your creed into your deed,
        Nor speak with double tongue.
For sea and land don't understand,
        Nor skies without a frown
See rights for which the one hand fights
        By the other cloven down.

Be just at home; then write your scroll
         Of honor o'er the sea,
And bid the broad Atlantic roll,
        A ferry of the free.

And henceforth there shall be no chain,
         Save underneath the sea
The wires shall murmur through the main
         Sweet songs of liberty.

The conscious stars accord above,
        The waters wild below,
And under, through the cable wove,
         Her fiery errands go.

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.