An Invocation (Read at the Celebration of Independence Day in San Francisco, in 1888)

Goddess of Liberty! O thouWhose tearless eyes behold the chain,And look unmoved upon the slain,Eternal peace upon thy brow,--

Before thy shrine the races press,Thy perfect favor to implore--The proudest tyrant asks no more,The ironed anarchist no less.

Thine altar-coals that touch the lipsOf prophets kindle, too, the brandBy Discord flung with wanton handAmong the houses and the ships.

Upon thy tranquil front the starBurns bleak and passionless and white,Its cold inclemency of lightMore dreadful than the shadows are.

Thy name we do not here invokeOur civic rites to sanctify:Enthroned in thy remoter sky,Thou heedest not our broken yoke.

Thou carest not for such as we:Our millions die to serve the stillAnd secret purpose of thy will.They perish--what is that to thee?

The light that fills the patriot's tombIs not of thee. The shining crownCompassionately offered downTo those who falter in the gloom,

And fall, and call upon thy name,And die desiring--'tis the signOf a diviner love than thine,Rewarding with a richer fame.

To him alone let freemen cryWho hears alike the victor's shout,The song of faith, the moan of doubt,And bends him from his nearer sky.

God of my country and my race!So greater than the gods of old--So fairer than the prophets toldWho dimly saw and feared thy face,--

Who didst but half reveal thy willAnd gracious ends to their desire,Behind the dawn's advancing fireThy tender day-beam veiling still,--

To whom the unceasing suns belong,And cause is one with consequence,--To whose divine, inclusive senseThe moan is blended with the song,--

Whose laws, imperfect and unjust,Thy just and perfect purpose serve:The needle, howsoe'er it swerve,Still warranting the sailor's trust,--

God, lift thy hand and make us freeTo crown the work thou hast designed.O, strike away the chains that bindOur souls to one idolatry!

The liberty thy love hath givenWe thank thee for. We thank thee forOur great dead fathers' holy warWherein our manacles were riven.

We thank thee for the stronger strokeOurselves delivered and incurredWhen--thine incitement half unheard--The chains we riveted we broke.

We thank thee that beyond the seaThe people, growing ever wise,Turn to the west their serious eyesAnd dumbly strive to be as we.

As when the sun's returning flameUpon the Nileside statue shone,And struck from the enchanted stoneThe music of a mighty fame,

Let Man salute the rising dayOf Liberty, but not adore.'Tis Opportunity--no more--A useful, not a sacred, ray.

It bringeth good, it bringeth ill,As he possessing shall elect.He maketh it of none effectWho walketh not within thy will.

Give thou or more or less, as weShall serve the right or serve the wrong.Confirm our freedom but so longAs we are worthy to be free.

But when (O, distant be the time!)Majorities in passion drawInsurgent swords to murder Law,And all the land is red with crime;

Or--nearer menace!--when the bandOf feeble spirits cringe and pleadTo the gigantic strength of Greed,And fawn upon his iron hand;--

Nay, when the steps to state are wornIn hollows by the feet of thieves,And Mammon sits among the sheavesAnd chuckles while the reapers mourn;

Then stay thy miracle!--replaceThe broken throne, repair the chain,Restore the interrupted reignAnd veil again thy patient face.

Lo! here upon the world's extremeWe stand with lifted arms and dareBy thine eternal name to swearOur country, which so fair we deem--

Upon whose hills, a bannered throng,The spirits of the sun displayTheir flashing lances day by dayAnd hear the sea's pacific song--

Shall be so ruled in right and graceThat men shall say: "O, drive afieldThe lawless eagle from the shield,And call an angel to the place!"