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Your Country And Mine Post by :imported_n/a Category :Poems Author :Helen Leah Reed Date :November 2011 Read :1475

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Your Country And Mine

Sing of America, sing of our Country!
Land of two oceans, of palm-tree and pine!
Firm as the rock of her towering mountains,
Free as her rivers from Heaven-born fountains,
Unafraid as her eagle,--as true to the line;
Sing of our Country,--your Country and mine!
Sing of America,--self-governed Country!
Dear Land, thou to tyranny never wilt bow;
Ever with thee the oppressed have had haven;
While Freedom droops, thy true sons are not craven;
Look! They are fighting to honor thee now,
With Victory and Peace to bejewel thy brow.
Sing of America,--loving humanity!
"Avenge ye the slaughtered!" Heed ye her decree;
Ye who have reaped of the father's brave sowing,
High hold your flag when the war winds are blowing!
Safe for all men keep the path of the sea;
Secure in their rights help small Nations to be.
Fight for America, noble America!
Liberty, Justice, and Truth--the divine,--
Carrying onward,--her lamp proudly burning--
Craving no empire, intrigue ever spurning,
Over the Earth shall her beacon-light shine!
Fight for our Country, your Country and mine!

(The end)
Helen Leah Reed's poem: Your Country And Mine

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The Grand Army Passes The Grand Army Passes

The Grand Army Passes
Behold a long procession passing proudly, And yet no glittering pomp adorns its way, Only the emblems of our States and Nation, Only the flags that floated on the day These men, our men, trod upon fields of glory;-- The tattered flags that this Grand Army bore For the Republic--flags that furled and faded To their old vividness our hearts restore. The line of veterans once firm and crowded, The long, long line is wavering and thin; With faltering steps Old Age speaks mutely to them Youth marched abreast when

His Monument His Monument

His Monument
From top to pedestal you scan it lightly-- Capped head to lettered base--and you are smiling. What see you there to set your lips a-quiver? An awkward figure cut from ugly granite, Aye, roughly hewn, as if unhelped by chisel, This peaceful man of war, sculptured grotesquely. Still--there is metal in the gun he is holding, And in the cannon balls piled up before him-- The artist's symbols of a real soldier. Yet jeer no longer! Before you is a soldier of the Union, Crowned with the tears and prayers