From the homes of all, where her being began, She took what she gave to Man; Justice, that knew no station, Belief, as soul decreed, Free air for aspiration, Free force for independent deed! She takes, but to give again, As the sea returns the rivers in rain; And gathers the chosen of her seed From the hunted of every crown and creed. Her Germany dwells by a gentler Rhine; Her Ireland sees the old sunburst shine; Her France pursues some dream divine; Her Norway keeps his mountain pine; Her Italy waits by the western brine; And, broad-based under all, Is planted England's oaken-hearted mood, As rich in fortitude As e'er went worldward from the island-wall! Fused in her candid light, To one strong race all races here unite; Tongues melt in hers, hereditary foemen Forget their sword and slogan, kith and clan. 'Twas glory, once to be a Roman: She makes it glory, now, to be a man! Bayard Taylor THE BLUE AND THE GRAY By the flow of the inland river, Whence the fleets of iron have fled, Where the blades of the grave grass quiver, Asleep are the ranks of the dead: Under the sod and the dew, Waiting the judgment day; Under the one, the Blue, Under the other, the Gray. These in the robings of glory, Those in the gloom of defeat, All with the battle blood gory, In the dusk of eternity meet: Under the sod and the dew, Waiting the judgment day; Under the laurel, the Blue, Under the willow, the Gray. From the silence of sorrowful hours The desolate mourners go, Lovingly laden with flowers Alike for the friend and the foe: Under the sod and the dew, Waiting the judgment day; Under the roses, the Blue, Under the lilies, the Gray. So with an equal splendor The morning sun rays fall, With a touch impartially tender, On the blossoms blooming for all: Under the sod and the dew, Waiting the judgment day; Broidered with gold, the Blue, Mellowed with gold, the Gray. So, when the summer calleth, On forest and field of grain, With an equal murmur falleth The cooling drip of the rain: Under the sod and the dew, Waiting the judgment day; Wet with the rain, the Blue, Wet with the rain, the Gray. Sadly, but not with upbraiding, The generous deed was done, In the storm of the years that are fading, No braver battle was won Under the sod and the dew, Waiting the judgment day; Under the blossoms, the Blue, Under the garlands, the Gray.